


The Strings of Fate Have Found You

by CrossbowCottage (orphan_account)



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: AU where Isaac survives, Action/Adventure, Angst, Gen, Period-Typical Racism, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2020-11-24 15:02:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20909588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/CrossbowCottage
Summary: One day, the life of a small-town farm boy is turned upside down, and the only thing he has left is a name. Or, really, a wanted poster."Arthur Morgan" might've once been a name he knew, but now no longer remembers, and it's up to Isaac to find the elusive outlaw and unlock the secrets that tie them all together.Before it's too late.





	1. Seal your Fate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> never written a fanfic before. and I didn’t edit this at all. so if u hate it... jus be kind. Pls.

“You’ve always got your head in one of those books. I swear, aint nothin you’re gonna find in there gonna help you be a good husband someday.” Isaac rolled his eyes. He’d heard this all before. 

“I aint never gonna get married. An’ if I do, guess what? I’ll just find someone who likes these BOOKS just as much as I do!” He angrily turned another page. “You ever even read a book? I bet you’d like ‘em, if you ever read ‘em.” 

“Boy, watch your tone with me. I got no interest in READIN. There is WORKIN to be done. And on that note, you need to go muck out Jamie’s stall. Go on, might as well do something useful round here.” 

Isaac rolled his eyes, setting his book down on the nightstand and heading out to the stables. He didn’t really understand why they had stables, since they only had the one horse, but maybe whoever owned the house before them had lots of horses. At least they only had the one to take care of. 

Despite his reluctance to do much other than read, he truly did enjoy horses, and he found Jamie to be his prized possession (even though it weren’t really his). She was a good horse, and if he wasn’t reading or doing some other tedious chore his ma cooked up for him, he would be out at the stalls, brushing down her dappled grey coat, washing and trimming her long mane until it gleamed, and riding her around their small stretch of land over and over, pretending in his head that he was a great outlaw, riding out through the plains to a bank robbery, or maybe a farm full of prize ponies. Not that his ma knew about that part, but she didn’t really need to. After all, whose business was it if he occasionally wondered about that outlaw life? It was just a dream, and it weren’t like it could ever come to be. He was destined to be a farm boy, or maybe a writer, if he could convince his mother, or anyone for that matter, that literature was more than just a waste of time. 

Jamie nickered softly as he approached, tilting her head as if inviting-no, demanding-to be scratched. And of course Isaac obliged her. Gave her an apple from the bucket that was sitting nearby, too, as he always did. 

“How are ya’, girl?” Jamie snorted. “Bored? Yeah, me too. Ma says I stay out here too long, and I gotta go in, and then I go in, and I read my books, and she says I stay in there too long! What’s a guy to do?” Jamie did not reply. Of course, Jamie had no idea what he was saying, and probably just wanted more apples, but he liked to think she was agreeing solemnly with his awful predicament. “You think I should be some lousy farm boy for all my life? Yeah, me neither. She don’t know what she’s talking about. ‘You gotta find you a good housewife, and you gotta own a farm, and you gotta do your damn chores when I say so, and you gotta do this, and you gotta do that!’ It’s exhaustin’! You think I’m gonna be some lousy farmer?” He pretended that Jamie shook her head. “No! And I don’t know what I AM gonna be, but you know what it aint gonna be? A homesteader. No ma’am. I’d sooner be a grave digger than stuck with a bunch of smelly sheep my whole life!” 

While he was sure of what he didn’t want to be, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. And he was fifteen, so it was getting to be time to make up his mind. He always went back to writing, and he did like reading, and writing, but something about an office job just didn’t sit right. Nothing really sat right, in fact. Writing? Too... structured. Too... civilized? But it weren’t that he were uncivilized, so he couldn’t quite figure what was the problem. All the trades seemed too permanent, and the notion of being trapped doing the same job for the rest of his life bothered him greatly. And obviously, he WEREN’T gon’ be no farmer. So what did that leave? He liked horses, and he liked riding horses, but he just wasn’t good enough to make money riding them for sport. The closest he’d ever found himself to his “mystery aspiration” was the sheriff. Watching them ride by, guns in hand, chasing down dangerous men, well-that looked rather exciting. But when he brought it up to his ma, she’d said something about how “She weren’t gon lose her only son because he decided to go be a fool and get himself killed” and some other stuff. It hurt, but once again, he just felt this deep sense of wrongness, like fate was trying to push him away, and so her words didn’t really bother him. 

He pulled the girth straps of Jamie’s saddle, sliding his foot into the stirrup and hurriedly riding out to the pasture before his ma could yell at him for being unproductive. Could a boy not get a minute’s peace to ride his horse? But, for once, she remained in the house, and for that he was thankful. Jamie was too, it seemed, an extra bounce in her step as her relief to finally be out of the cramped stall became apparent. He kicked his legs into her sides-firmly but not too hard, because Jamie was well trained and didn’t need much pressure to know exactly what to do-and then they were off, dashing rapidly through the pasture as though they had someplace to be, as though they were actually heading somewhere as opposed to just pretending to be on some important mission while really just riding in circles. Even so, the trees whizzing by as they rode parallel to the treeline and the grass flying underfoot was exhilirating, no matter how many times he’d done it all before. It was the only time he ever really felt free, was when he was riding, just like that, going so fast but going nowhere. He only sometimes thought it would be even better if he was going so fast and going somewhere, but of course, he was only allowed to ride within the town, and he had to go painfully slow if he wasn’t in the pasture, so he supposed this would do until... something. Someday. Somehow. 

He decided, in spite of his instincts which told him he did not want to incur the wrath of his mother for disobeying her again, to ride out into the trees. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been in those trees, on foot and on horseback, but he’d always been going so slow. For once, he wanted to do something at least somewhat dangerous, maybe to prove that he wasn’t just a boy anymore, or maybe just because the riding around the pasture just wasn’t challenging anymore. For whatever the reason, he took a sharp turn to the right, diving straight into the dense trees, the sudden change in light blinding him until his eyes adjusted. Jamie wove through the trees and bushes gracefully, guided by the expert hand of the boy who had been on horses since before he could walk, and driven on by a thousands-of-years-old instinct, fine-tuned by whoever had trained him before his ma had bought him at the stables. 

Isaac wasn’t surprised when they finally reemerged from the dense canopy unscathed, albeit both breathing a bit heavily, from the exhiliration and the effort both, but he was immensely proud. Not many riders, especially one so young as himself, could’ve navigated that so quickly and flawlessly, nor could many horses be so agile as his mare. Jamie trotted over toward the stalls, and he dismounted, brushing her down once more and refilling her water trough. She seemed sad to see him go, so he gave her one last apple before heading back to the house. 

On the one hand, he really wanted to tell his ma how good he’d ridden, because she always said he was just wasting his time riding around in the pasture when he could be workin’, and he felt he was owed a bit of bragging for how well he had done. On the other hand, he wasn’t actually supposed to be riding out in the woods, especially not that fast, and she wasn’t exactly the kind of woman to let you off the hook. “Jus’ because you didn’t die don’t mean you won’t! I don’t care how well you dodged them trees, what about next time? We don’t have time to be foolish, there is work to be done.” 

So, instead of heading back into the house, as he didn’t have an excuse ready, and he wasn’t in the mood to wash clothes just yet, he took off for the town to go run the errands. Maybe she’d forgive him just a bit if he did the shopping without being asked? 

With that thought, he set out, the small amount of change he’d personally collecting jangling in his saddlebag, Jamie’s head held high with the freedom of getting to leave her stable for twice in one day, and Isaac’s heart full of dreams he didn’t fully dream and thoughts he didn’t fully understand. 

He was long gone by the time the robbers showed up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayayyayaayyyyy (don’t expect any consistency as far as how often I’ll upload or how long the chapters will be, I jus kind of go with the flow of inspiration.) hope u enjoyed tho :P


	2. The World Turned Upside Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything Isaac thought he knew has changed.

Mr. O’Henry, the owner of the general store, was reading when he walked in, sparing him a quick glance and a warm smile before returning to his story. He was probably the only kid his age who Mr. O’Henry didn’t watch like a hawk from the moment he stepped into the store, a trust he had earned and appreciated greatly. Certainly the kind heart and general good-naturedness of his mother had helped, but he had to believe that he had, in some way, proved himself. O’Henry wasn’t the only one, it seemed Isaac was simply known as a good kid throughout the town. Plus, he was a returning customer-ever since he turned twelve, his ma had placed the duties of errand running, such as shopping, picking up mail, and communicating with the neighbors in his hands. He didn’t need a list anymore, he was big enough to actually keep track of what was running low back at the house and get it. He liked this, as it gave him some more liberties as far as buying things he didn’t necessarily need, and she couldn’t tell him he wasn’t supposed to buy it. Plus, what was wrong with buying a little hair pomade, or some chocolate, once in a while? Some kids drank alcohol, or hit stray dogs, or got into fights, so in his mind, he wasn’t exactly horrible for buying himself things every once in awhile-especially now that he had some money of his own. 

No, his mother had not paid him, and he didn’t think she ever would. He’d tried once to ask for an allowance, as he had wanted a new hat, to which she had responded “I ain’t giving you anything. If you wanted some money, you’d go get a job somewhere. You barely do any work as it is, and I pay for your house, your food, your clothes-so stop being so ungrateful.” He wasn’t in a mood to argue with her that day, so he’d simply rolled his eyes-but he had seriously thought about what she had said. So, by the end of that very week, he’d gotten himself a job mucking out the stables in town, and wasn’t that what she had said? He was halfway certain they were seriously underpaying him because he was a child, but money was money, so he never complained. He thought his mother would’ve been happy, but the first day he came back from his “job”, she’d merely given him a lecture on how he needed to be helping her with work around the house, not doing work for some horse salesman. She apparently hadn’t changed her mind, either, as he got this very same lecture at least once a month, or whenever he had to stay late at the stables, so maybe spending his own money on this week’s groceries would bring her over to his side. Or at least get her to stop nagging him for a bit. 

He left the general store with some dried meat, a few apples, and a chocolate bar which he resolved to eat before he got home, as well as some bread that Mr. O’Henry had thrown in for free, as a gift for their loyalty to his shop, which he was very grateful for. Next, he rode up to the post office, striking up a quick conversation with the attendant about the lack of rain before asking about their mail. They had none, as was usually the case, so he started to head home, in a good mood from being out of the house for a bit. As he was leaving, though, a man rode by on a horse with braided hair, and it was so shocking to him that he pulled back on the reins just to watch the main ride by. He shot him a curious glance before riding on, head held high in that way that rich people do. So, despite the fact that he was running quite low on personal funds and probably should save it for an emergency, he headed over to the stables to ask if they could braid Jamie’s hair. 

Turns out, they could, and since he was an employee of sorts, the stablehand, Jones, offered to teach him to braid it himself. Of course he said yes, forked over five bucks in change, and watched as the man with otherwise rough hands seemed to gracefully twist and fold his horse’s mane into tight little strands. 

“Okay, kid, you got that? You try this one.” Isaac nodded. He divided the hair into three strands, and began twisting and turning just like Jones had, though his movements were highly unpracticed and he had to restart multiple times. After what seemed like ages, he finally got it, and his one braid was noticably looser than the rest, but he was proud of it nonetheless. Was it a practical skill? No, not really, but as he watched Jones finish up the last of the braids, and saw the proud gleam in Jamie’s eye at being styled and fussed over like a showpony, he was glad for the way he’d spent his money regardless. 

Finally, after he had no more errands to run and no more surprise distractions coming his way, he headed home, the Sun having reached the very top of the sky, the violent manner in which it beat down on his back further inspiration to get home quickly. He wasn’t super enthusiastic to show his ma the way he’d spent his money, certain she’d find it to be a waste, so he rode up quietly and slipped Jamie into her stall, slinging her saddle over the side, so as to hopefully keep her new style hidden until he could convince her of the value of his purchase, or at least, the value to him. 

As he approached the house, his pulse quickened a bit, and he looked around nervously. Why? He couldn’t say. He hadn’t done anything wrong, in fact, he’d saved her some money, so she’d probably be happy with him, maybe even let him have a break for a bit. So why was he so anxious? 

With each step he made toward the house, he looked around once more, certain something was off. And, he soon realized, it wasn’t just him-all of the birds had gone silent, their usual chirping and rustling through the trees had been silenced. There weren’t any sounds coming from within the house either, which was strange-you could almost always hear his ma bustling about, doing some sort of chore that she would be quick to drag him into if he showed his face, or cooking her admittedly amazing meals in the kitchen, but-there was nothing. Just the eerie sound of the trees swaying in the breeze, and the bugs flitting around his face in the summer heat. But otherwise, all was quiet. 

“Ma?” He leaned over the porch slowly, wondering if she was tending to the garden, but she wasn’t there. Nor was she out back, hanging up the linens to dry, and he even checked down by the stream, but she wasn’t there, getting water or washing clothes. And she never went into town without telling him, so that only left the house. 

He opened the door slowly, cringing as the loud creaking seemed to echo throughout the eerily still house. The curtains were pulled back and the shutters were open, as she always did once it got hot outside, and the house seemed otherwise normal. No knocked over vase, no smashed picture frame, no papers strewn about, which somehow made him even more nervous. 

Remembering what she had told him, years ago, in case of an emergency, he slowly slid open the drawer underneath the cabinet, opening the book-that-wasn't-actually-a-book to reveal a chipped, old revolver. Fully loaded. He shuddered, pulling the gun from the case and glancing about him once more before lifting the gun in front of him as he walked, just as she had taught him. 

“But ma, I don’t wanna shoot people!” 

“Aint nobody in their right mind wants to shoot people. But you know something?” She didn’t wait for a response. “Aint everyone is in their right mind. You know, and I know, that killing is wrong. But some people don’t agree so much. Would you rather kill someone, or have them kill you first?” 

He seemed to really think about this. “Why can’t we all just shoot nobody? Then no one has to kill anyone!” 

She smiled, but it was a sad smile, bending down to get to his eye level. “If you are in the woods, and a wolf just walks by, and goes on about it’s business, what do you do?” 

“You just... go home?” 

“Exactly. He wasn’t hurting you, and you don’t hurt it. You just get out of each others way, and that’s that. But what about if a rabid wolf is running toward you, poised to strike?” 

He pursued his lips. He didn’t like that at all. “You gotta shoot it. But I don’t never see any wolves?” 

She laughed. “Yes, but if you did see a wolf, and it looked REAL mad, and it was about to bite you, wouldn’t you want to defend yourself?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Well, it’s the same with people. Ain’t nobody is all the way good, and you can’t really trust ‘em to have your back, like wolves.” His eyes widened. 

“Wolves!” 

“Yes, wolves. You can barely trust anyone, because most people are just looking out for themselves. But, just like the first wolf, if you don’t bother them, they prolly won’t bother you. See what I mean?” 

“Mhm. What about the mean wolf?” 

“Yes. That’s why you have to learn this.” She pointed to the gun that lay on the table. “Because when a wolf is about to strike, you don’t have time to tell it that you aren’t gonna bother it. But even if you did, it prolly doesn’t care. You know why?” He didn’t answer. “Because their only goal is to feed. They don’t look at you and see a person, they simply see a way to... satiate their hunger. They’re desperate. And some men are just the same. They don’t care who they kill or what they destroy to get whatever it is they want. So you must be on your guard as well. You see, it takes a good man to defend against a bad man. And you are a good man, yes?” 

Though he didn’t really understand the analogy then, he let her press the gun into his hands regardless, and throughout the day he shot at the bottles in the pasture over, and over, and over, until he finally hit one near the end of the day. He smiled, finally triumphant, and his mother nodded, saying that was enough progress for one day, and they had better make dinner. 

Over the years, he’d become better and better with his shooting, and every time he did it, it became less about the reason why he had to learn and more about his desire to get good at hitting the bottles. Even so, he never forgot what his mother had said about wolves, and it was in this moment that it came back to him, steeling his resolve and sharpening his movements as he swept the gun around the kitchen, holding it up toward the ceiling once he decided there was no one waiting to ambush him under the table, or behind the pantry doors. 

He hadn’t noticed it before, maybe he couldn’t smell it, or maybe he was just too scared to care, but something was burning. It didn’t smell like... flesh, thank god, but it did smell disgusting. He would’ve plugged his nose had he not been holding a gun. Instead, he shuffled into the kitchen slowly, stopping at the stove. A pot full of stew, mostly evaporated and charred almost beyond recognition sizzled away in the pot, and he quickly moved back to where he had been before. He didn’t bother to put out the fire as he kind of had bigger problems at the moment, but he did become increasingly worried. His mother never burned anything, especially her stew. So where was she? 

A quick sweep of his room, situated right at the bottom of the stairs, and then he was heading up to the second story, revolver held shakily out in front of him. He pondered just leaving, maybe asking Mr. O’Henry to let him stay for the night and coming back tomorrow, but like as not this wasn’t a problem that time would solve. With that thought, he pushed on, with only two rooms left before he’d have to... do what? Bring the sheriff? Search the woods? Leave? 

Surely he’d just missed her on his search of the woods, or maybe she’d gone into town to do the errands herself? This could all be just a big misunderstanding, and she’d step right through the front door and wonder where he’d run off to, and go about fixing the stew, and they’d laugh about how ridiculous he was being, and- 

Blood. Coming from under the door to ma’s bedroom, painting the bottom of the door, and the wood floors, and the bottoms of the walls a dark red, the violent scent of rust forcing him back, recoiling with disgust. But he pushed on, he had to push on, and with that thought he stepped hesitantly into the ever-swelling pool of red, yanking the door back and immediately pulling his gun up- 

Nothing. Not a sound, other than the beating of his heart which seemed to have moved up to his ears, the loud pounding in his head seeming to reverberate throughout the room. The closet door was open, the bedding was astray, and all the drawers were either open or completely pulled off their hinges. He moved to take a step forward, and this forced him to finally notice once more the sticky pool of blood under his feet, which must lead somewhere, and logically that somewhere must be- 

A hand, pale, bloodied, and eerily still was all that could be seen, as the rest of...her...was completely underneath the bed, but the hand could be no one’s but hers, for he had seen it a thousand times, and he felt no desire to touch it to see if it was cold, or to investigate to ensure that it really was her... there was no need. He already knew. 

He dropped the gun, sinking to his knees against the wall opposite the body, resting his head in his shaking hands. He wanted nothing more to leave, to get out of the room and the house and the town NOW, but he just couldn’t bring himself to stand up. Too much, it was just too much, and none of it seemed to be registering, and everything was a blur, and his mother was dead, and her body was under the bed, right there, and it wasn’t even her anymore, it’s just a body, she’s gone, you’ll never see her again and you should’ve just done your damn chores like she asked, and someone killed her, and that someone could still be here, and in that moment some dark, scared part of him WISHED that person was still here, and would find him, just like this, and send him to go be with his mother again, and- 

Something kept bothering him in his periphery, and no matter how hard he tried to block out the world and be alone with his thoughts, disorganized and frantic as they might be, he couldn’t help but notice that little slip of paper, a single corner red with blood, a few words hastily scrawled across it-and before he knew it he was up, stepping over the lifeless arm that jutted out from under the bed, and then he had the paper in his hands, with handwriting he’d seen a thousand times before and could recognize anywhere- 

“the box under the bed” 

A simple enough message, but it made his heart hurt nonetheless. She’d known she wouldn’t make it, she’d obviously written it fast, so she knew she was dying SOON. And he knew exactly what box she had been referring to, as he’d seen her rifling through it occasionally throughout the years, and he’d always been told he was not allowed to look in it. He never felt the need to, and he got lectured enough without digging into some mystery box against her wishes. Now, though, he wished for nothing more than to hear her nagging voice one last time. 

He trudged over to the other side of the bed, the one near the door, grabbing his pistol off the ground as he went. He didn’t need to look under the bed-which he was thankful for-as the box was right on the edge, as if it expected to be found, as if it wanted to be found. So he pulled it out, and undid the latch. 

Inside, there were only two things, and both were sheets of paper. The first, a note, not unlike the one he’d found on the dresser, simply less sloppy. It was also short, (knowing his mother, he hadn’t expected some long, sappy letter upon her death, but it was still jarring) which simply read: 

“If you are reading this, I am dead. You’ve been a good son, and I am sure you will continue to be one. I have no advice to leave you, other than what I have already given you. But, if you are lost, you could start by looking for him." 

The question that had started to form in his mind was quickly answered by the second paper from the box, but to say he now had more questions than answers was an understatement. 

It was, of all things, a bounty poster, one of the things his mother had always warned him about. Thinking of her again brought a sharp pain to his chest, and he might’ve cried had he not been so utterly confused. Did she want him to become a bounty hunter? 

Most likely not, considering this bounty was for $3,500, and this man had a longer string of felonies and misdeeds than the devil himself, it seemed. Murder, armed robbery, assault, train theft (how?), the list went on and on. And this was no regular bounty, you were supposed to take THIS man, if found, to the “Pinkerton Detective Agency”. He’d heard of them, vaguely, mostly when they died on a case and it made the paper. 

The sketch wasn’t great, to where if Isaac walked by this man on the street, he’d probably never guess that this was his bounty. But he was pretty sure now that his mother’s last wishes were NOT to take up bounty hunting, so that didn’t bother him. Instead, he’d have to try and investigate by asking around, for this... 

He scanned the page. “Arthur Morgan.” 

...who?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooo in my mind, Eliza was kind of like “ahh, we have these loan sharks, and we gotta leave, but no longer having to have my child influenced by a criminal, kind of an added bonus” which is why I think all of isaacs memories of him would be s u p e r vague bc I feel like she kind of tried to... erase Arthur, so that isaac would never grow up like that. Plus what five year old knows their parents real name ? ;P


	3. Smoke, Guns, and New Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isaac isn’t given much time to prepare, and he’s barely a days ride in when he’s introduced to the kind of problems that are all too common when out on the open road, alone.

Honest to God, Isaac had never heard of this man in his life.

And now it was his mother’s dying wish for him find him?

A criminal?!

A MURDERER?!

With many questions, few answers, and absolutely no energy to deal with any of this today, Isaac plodded downstairs and went to sleep.

————————————————————————

With a groan, he pushed himself upward, shaking off the last remnants of an unpleasant dream full of smoke, gunfire, and the face of a man he had never seen, circling around him like...wolves. 

Well, he couldn’t seem to shake off the smoke, and the more he tried to separate the dream from reality, it seemed like the sharp tang of woodsmoke became even more prevalent, and in seconds he was out of bed, reaching for the door handle-

“AHH!” The brass was hot like an oven, and the minute he had that thought he remembered the fire under the burning stew that he’d neglegted to put out, and now the handle was so hot he was surprised it wasn’t red. Slowly, mind foggy with sleep, he backed away from the door, coughing as more smoke began to seep under the doorframe. The entire house was made of wood-it would probably be seconds before his entire room was alight. That, or a story above him started to burn, and then the roof would cave in on top of him. With that thought, he grabbed the box with the papers and the revolver from his bedside table, smashing the window above his headboard with the gun, and hoisting himself out onto the fresh earth.

The fresh morning air and cool dewy grass was a welcome change from the smoke-infested room that had quickly been heating to the temperature of a sauna, and he almost would’ve smiled, if, of course, his house that he’d known for ten years was not burning down and his mother wasn’t dead and he was now on his own and he was presumably an orphan-for where was his father? He hadn’t a clue, nor had his mother ever brought him up, so he felt it was safe to assume this man was lost to him for good. Even still, the vague notions of what once was, before they’d moved houses to escape those loan sharks, nagged at him greatly-but he didn’t have time to dwell on such things. It was difficult to watch the place he’d laughed in, cried in, read in, helped cook in, and lived the majority of his life in burn to the ground, but it did at least solve one difficult problem for him. With the house burned down to ash, no one would come looking for him. They’d surely assume the worst, (as he would’ve too in their place) and that would be that.

He strode quickly over to the stables, giving Jamie a quick pat before going about the preparations to leave. Not that he was in any real hurry, for he certainly had no plans of what he would do now, but it would be awfully inconvenient for someone to show up and find his house burned down, his mother gone, and him on his way out. He shuddered at the implication, and surely no one would ever assume that of him, but he was not about to take that risk. So he quickened his pace.

First, he donned the gun belt that he’d barely worn, bought for him by Mrs. Toyle once his mother told her that he would be learning to shoot. He’d appreciated the gesture, truly, but it was a bit too small for him even on the smallest notch, and he didn’t really see the use for it then when he could just set the gun back on the table when he was done. Now, though, it fit perfectly, and with all of these things he had to keep track of, limited though his possessions were, it was very convenient to have one less thing to keep track of. Plus, it was a dangerous world, and he might just need to protect himself. After all, isn’t that why he learned to shoot in the first place?  
Again, he was reminded of just how lost he was, to where he considered just riding out into the woods and living off the land. Becoming a mountain dweller, giving strange advice to passers by for some spare change. He’d starve, probably. He was no hunter, just a boy with no home and no plan to find a new one. Great.

He didn’t even have much food, either, as most of it had probably burned along with the house, but they did keep a bit of dried meat and canned vegetables out here, for which he was immensely thankful. He didn’t have any of his own money left-GREAT timing to get Jamie a new hairdo, truly-and he didn’t dare risk returning to town to work another shift. 

One last time, he turned back, and at this point the house, while not totally reduced to ash, had been ruined, the roof had caved in, there was a whole in the far wall, and the flames were still burning. Actually, he probably SHOULD hurry, as the smoke was starting to rise up in a giant plume over the treeline, and someone would PROBABLY come investigate. Especially since pretty much the whole town had been to their house before, and everyone would probably be worried. So, he stuffed the box down into his saddlebag along with the food, tightening the girth straps one last time JUST to be sure. At the last minute, he grabbed his mother’s handkerchief which had been haphazardly thrown onto the stall divider, and why, he wasn’t sure. Partly, because she was, well, DEAD, and he wanted to keep a memento of her. But, he had the note from the box, so that wasn’t totally the reason, but he didn’t dwell on it any longer. sending a solid kick into Jamie’s sides, he headed out in the opposite direction of the town. After one last backward glance in which he saw nothing but the top of the tower of smoke as it reached over the trees, he shook his head, and didn’t look back again.

———————————————————————

On he rode, down the path full of hoofprints and wheel marks made by people who probably had some sort of plan, unlike him, who had been riding for hours down the dirt path, seeing no one, nor any sign of a nearby town. But what would he even do when he got to this hypothetical town? He couldn’t exactly walk up to a random stranger and say “I’m on a quest to find an infamous criminal named Arthur Morgan. Why? My mom told me to. Can you help?” He had a feeling that wouldn’t go over well. But that left him stranded out here, meaning he would have to sleep outdoors. Which he had literally never done. At least, not that he remembered, and if he had, he certainly hadn’t been alone. Didn’t you need supplies to set up camp? Something told him a few assorted snacks, a box, and a handkerchief weren’t exactly sufficient camping supplies.  
For the time being, he decided he’d just keep going until he either came across some sort of civilization, or until he simply COULDN’T anymore. Whichever came first. Was he just procrastinating so he didn’t have to face the problem? No, not at all, he was just making as much progress as possible. At least, that’s what he told Jamie, who did not seem to care. Surely, he’d have to come upon a road sign EVENTUALLY. Roads can't just stretch on aimlessly forever, right?

A few minutes later, he saw the first people of the whole day coming from the other direction. Sort of nerve-wracking, but sort of a relief. If there were people, then there had to be a town, but also-he knew he could trust no one. He made sure his revolver was handy, JUST in case, but for the time being they were just specks on the horizon. Two, it looked like. Unlike him, they probably had somewhere to be, so they most likely would pass him without a second glance. Though he’d like to ask for directions, he’d be perfectly happy if they left them be. Plus, as they got closer, Isaac could see that they’d been hunting, because something lay across the back of the first man’s horse, and they wouldn’t want to leave that there longer than needed-

It was a WOMAN? Tied up to the back of his horse? Isaac couldn’t believe his eyes. He tried to school his expression into something more neutral, but he couldn’t help the confusion that must’ve been apparent to the two men. They looked at him, noticed him staring, one of them ROLLED HIS EYES, and said “Stand back. Official business.”

He had no idea what drove him to do it, but he twisted his horse around to where she blocked the road. This boldness was completely unlike him, and Jamie felt the tension rippling through him, swishing her head uncertainly. The woman seemed to have noticed, finally, that something had changed, and she started to twist around, slowly, like she didn’t want them to KNOW she was twisting around.

“Did you not hear me, boy? I said stand back. We’re out on official business. You trying to get shot or something?” Isaac swallowed nervously, keeping a shaky hand unobtrusively by his side. Just in case.

“That don’t look like official business, mister. Why you got a woman tied up there?”

The second man snickered, the sound raising the hairs on the back of his neck. “You never seen bounty hunters, boy? This woman right here is a CRIMINAL, we’re doin’ you a favor by bringin’ her in. You gonna back off?”

“I didn’t do anything! I swear! It weren’t me! I loved that man, why would I-”

SMACK. “Shut it, greaser.”

Isaac was by no means a violent person, in fact, he’d never hurt anyone, let alone SHOT them. Practiced for it? Sure, but bottles were much easier to hit than a living, breathing person. Let alone the fact that shooting bottles was accompanied by absolutely no opportunity for moral dilemma or guilt. But people? That was different. So why did he find it so easy to pull the gun from his hip, aiming toward the first man before he’d even turned around, sending a bullet right into his stomach? 

From the corner of his eye, he could see the second man slowly reaching for something at his back, presumably a rifle. He watched the first man clasp at his side, slipping slowly from the saddle, and the woman, though restrained and dazed from the solid hit she’d taken from the bounty hunter, slowly seemed to register what was going on and her expression went from fear, to shock, to... relief, maybe.

The whole world seemed to take on a golden haze, and everything slowed down, until it was just him, and his gun with five rounds left, and the man who was pulling a rifle over his shoulder. It barely took conscious thought to level his gun to the middle of his head, lifting his arm, aiming, and pulling the trigger one fluid movement, and the next moment it was gone, everything sped up once more.

And almost as if through pure instinct, he shifted an inch to the right, narrowly avoiding having his skull pierced by the knife.

Instead, it sliced across his skin, deep enough to elicit a groan and a hand automatically thrown up to his face, deep enough to make a scar, but not so deep as to keep him from lifting his gun once more, finishing the job he’d started earlier with the first man even as the blood ran into his eye.

“Thank you, thank you! Please, untie me!”

Holding a hand over his eye, he dropped to the ground, taking a few steps back to retreive the knife from where it landed. Still covered in blood, HIS blood, but he supposed it was only fair. He wiped the blood on the shirt of the first man, whose body lay at a painful angle right next to the horse the woman was still tied to. Everything was fuzzy, there was a horrible ringing in his ears, and he just KILLED two men, but it barely registered. Now, he had to untie this woman. He sliced absently along the ropes while she said something else, but he didn’t hear it. When he was done, she got up off the horse, brushing herself off, talking again, and the edges of his vision started to blur.

Then everything went black.

———————————————————————

Smoke. It was everywhere, all around him, suffocating him, taunting him, and all he could think was, “I should’ve turned off the stove.” If he’d just turned off the stove, there wouldn’t have been any smoke. Why didn’t he turn off the stove?  
Oh, yeah. There could’ve been someone waiting to ambush him. But what would he have done then? He might as well have just put out the fire. Shot them, supposedly. Then they’d be the ones choking on smoke. Gunsmoke, that is. It had to be one of them. But now it was him, choking on smoke, and he was jumping out the window now-still smoke. It seemed to have replaced the air as he knew it, surrounding him, and he tripped over his feet trying to run-where?

Suddenly, he was on the road, and everyone else was choking on smoke, HIS smoke, gunsmoke, and for some reason he just wished he would’ve suffocated when his house burned. It was a dog eat dog world, right? He had to, right? It was him or them, right? No, not really, he thought. Had he not interfered they would’ve passed him by, and maybe that woman really was a criminal. How could he know? Why did he get to make that choice for them, life or death? Really, it was THEM defending themselves from HIM. All he’d done was insert himself in the middle of their bounty hunting. And now they were dead.

Was he right? Should he have let them go? Then what of the woman? It seems no matter what route he took, the world always had to take something. Like the sacrifice. Him, in the house? The men, when he shot them? The woman, at the end of a rope in some place far from her home? Did it even matter?

Then he was suffocated by a different kind of smoke, of trying to do the right thing in a world full of wolves whose motives he did not know. Like his mother said, the wolf doesn’t care about you. It only cares for itself, so why should he be any different?

Then the smoke seemed to fade, but it didn’t totally go away. Instead, it was replaced with the soft crackling of a campfire, making him pleasantly warm from somewhere to his right. He opened his eyes, or-more accurately-his eye, and a hand flew up to his left out of confusion-it was covered in cloth. And it hurt, too, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember why. He remembered the house, and the road, and the men on horses, and the woman-

Sitting right across from him on the other side of the campfire sat the woman in question, staring at him intently. “You awake, kid?”

His eyes widened briefly, noticing for the first time just how dark it had gotten. With a bit of embarrassment, he said “How long was I... out?”

A chuckle. “Eh... few hours at least.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, gazing out at the trees thoughtfully. “You’re one brave kid, you know.”

He didn’t respond, just stared at the ground and rubbed at the cloth on his face absently. 

“Yeah, that’s gonna leave a nasty scar, I’m afraid. Sorry about that, but I bandaged it up as well as I knew how.”

“What is?”

“You don’t remember?” He shrugged.

“Sort of... ish. It’s kind of a blur.”

“Yeah, I don’t doubt it. One of the guys managed to nick you pretty good with a knife, but it could’ve been much worse. You got pretty lucky.”

His mind went back to the hand of his mother stretched limply out from under the bed, the house up in flames, and the mission to chase down a criminal he knew nothing about. “Yeah, lucky.”

She tilted her head curiously, but didn’t ask. Instead, she said, “I never got the chance to thank you, though.”

He shook his head. “There’s no need.”

“I suppose I already did, sort of, but you were halfway to the ground before I even got the words out. So.” She paused. “What are you doing out this far, alone? You seem a bit young to be going out on your own like that.”

Tell me about it. “It’s... a long story. Is there a town nearby?”

“Oh, yeah! You must not be from around here, eh? You keep going the way you were going for another half hour or so, and take a right at the crossroads, you should end up in Strawberry after a bit. Nice enough town, I suppose. From there, you can probably find directions to some of the other settlements in the area. You know, Valentine, Emerald Ranch, RHODES-if you’re feeling brave-” He nodded, as if he had heard of any of these places. “-and Saint Denis, of course, but I prefer to stay away from the big cities myself.” Isaac nodded in agreement.

“When do I get to take these bandages off?” He gestured towards his face.

“Mmm... probably should leave them on, wouldn’t want it to get infected. But if you HAVE to take it off, I’ll leave you with some rags and oils to wash it with.” He nodded his thanks. “For now, though, I think you should get some rest, and we can worry about that in the morning, yeah?”

Already feeling more tired than he had five minutes ago, he nodded, setting himself back down onto the bedroll that she had laid him out on. Just like yesterday, when he’d gone to bed instead of facing the issue of, well, EVERYTHING, and woken up to his house burning down. Except this time, he wasn’t running from anything, just preparing. Getting his strength up again, and now, with at least a shred of a plan to follow, planning. And this time, he had someone else there to make sure the fire got put out.

Comforted by this thought, he fell back into a now dreamless, peaceful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. Thanks for reading! More chapters on the way soon (hopefully)
> 
> Sorry if my writing style is a bit... scattered. With long, run-on sentences and such. I don’t re-read what I write, which is probably not a good thing, but I just KNOW if I read it I’ll HATE it and then I’ll abandon (or delete! :( ) the whole work. But if there’s something specific I could fix in future additions feel free to tell. :) 
> 
> Also this is the first fic I’ve ever written, aside from one I got bored of and deleted S U P E R quick. And I’m actually really hype to write this one. So yeah.


	4. It's Dangerous to Go Alone, Take This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isaac might have saved her from the bounty hunters, but now it's her turn to save him.

“Coffee?” 

Isaac groaned, throwing a hand over his face in an attempt to block out the morning light. Surely it wasn’t time to get up already? 

The woman from before stood at his feet, presumably holding a cup of coffee, and he hoped she would just go away and let him sleep. She did no such thing, however, and so he had to get himself up and start his day. 

Once he was thoroughly awake and had downed two cups of coffee, he finally let her take off his bandages to check the extent of the damage, and hopefully to take them off permanently. 

“Alright, this might hurt a bit, so just hold tight for me.” He nodded, leaning back on the log that she had brought over for him. With the careful ease of someone who had done this many times before, she unwrapped the cloth layer by layer, Isaac gritting his teeth once she peeled off the final layer that had started to stick to the wound. He stared expectantly while she fussed with various ointments and wiping his face with a cloth repeatedly, until she finally sat back with a huff. 

“I don’t suppose it’s bad enough that you need to keep the bandages on, so long as you make sure to keep it clean. Probably wouldn’t do you any harm, though, especially since you’ll probably get just as many stares either way. It’s pretty red.” 

He shrugged, just thankful that the knife hadn’t hit his actual eye. After that, she handed him multiple nondescript bottles, giving him careful instructions for each that he probably wouldn’t remember. She also gave him the bedroll he had slept on and a box of matches, which he tried to refuse-unsuccessfully. 

“There were two men, so two sets of supplies. You need them more than I do, anyway-what would you have done last night if you hadn’t run into them?” He didn’t know. “You shouldn’t need them anytime soon, regardless, if you’re heading to Strawberry. It can’t be more than an hour or so from here.” 

He nodded, stashing the new stuff in his saddlebags. He probably should’ve left then, to get a decent head start on the day, and he didn’t want to overstay his welcome. Instead, he sat back down at the campfire, across from the woman who was currently writing something down. If he was honest, he probably just wanted the company. He’d never been alone like this before, this independent. It was nice to have a sort of “mother” helping him along and fussing over him once more. 

“I never got your name..?” 

“Eh? Esmerelda. How about you?” 

“Isaac. Why did those men tie you up?” 

She raised an eyebrow, chuckling softly. “What, are we playing 20 questions now?” Isaac opened his mouth to respond, but she just laughed. “They thought I killed my husband, Marco. Ridiculous. I loved that man, more than anything else in this life. Why would I do that?” Isaac shook his head solemnly. He did not know how the law, or the bounty hunters, made decisions like that. 

“But someone killed him?” 

She nodded. “Must have. He was gone for weeks helping out on a cattle run, and the night after he returned, they found his body at my doorstep. I hear it wasn’t pretty, and I’m glad I didn’t see it. But someone decided that I thought he had an affair while he was away, which-” She waved her arms around angrily, “No! Just no! My husband was so loyal, he would never do that! And they knew that, and they knew I KNEW that, so why? They wasted all of their time chasing me down for something I didn’t do, while whoever killed him in cold blood just escaped with no repercussions! I mean, who would do such a thing? My husband never hurt anyone! Some people are just cruel, because they have the means to be cruel. I suppose there is no other way to explain it, so why dwell on it?” 

“My ma used to say something similar. About how everyone was just a wolf, looking out for themselves, but some of the wolves were rabid, so they were out to get you with no real reason. I guess that’s all there is too it.” 

“You sure are awfully grown for someone so young.” After that, they sat in solemn silence for a bit, each alone with their thoughts. 

“Hey, I didn’t get my question.” 

“Oh? Sure.” 

“So, what exactly are you doing out here, all alone and with no destination in mind? Running away?” 

He sighed. “Not really...you ever heard of Arthur Morgan?” 

“Arthur Morgan?” She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. “I want to say no, but something about the name rings a bell. Why?” 

“He’s apparently some big-time criminal, real dangerous guy, a killer, a robber, a brawler, and everythin’ else besides. Huge bounty too.” 

“Huh! Then you must be careful, make sure you don’t accidentally run into this man. He sounds vile.” 

“Exactly...that’s what I thought. But guess what? My mother’s dying wish was for me to hunt this guy down. Seriously.” 

Esmerelda grimaced. “What? That is ridiculous. Surely she meant a different Arthur Morgan?” He shook his head. 

“Nope, she included the bounty poster and everything. It’s so strange. One day I get a lecture just for riding my horse around our lawn too fast, and the next-” 

“-she wants you to go hunt bounties of killers and thieves.” 

“Yeah, that’s what I THOUGHT. But why? I can handle a gun just fine-” 

“Obviously.” 

“But I’m fifteen. And I’m certainly no bounty hunter. And I’m alone, and I’ve literally never... shot someone before yesterday, and I have no NEED for that kind of money. If she’d really wanted me to suddenly become a bounty hunter after her death, she’d probably just say that, and I’d end up going after the smaller bounties, you know-the less DEADLY ones. I’d probably have more success in the long run anyway.” She hummed in agreement. “Plus, she ALWAYS said I'd better be a farmer, or maybe some sort of trade, because she didn’t want me doin’ somethin’ stupid and getting myself killed. So something jus’ don’t add up.” But what did that leave? 

She was still for a moment, deep in thought. “Do you still have the poster?” 

“The bounty poster?” She nodded. At that, he got up, walking over to the clearing where Jamie and one of the bounty hunter’s horses were munching grass idly, digging in her saddlebag until he pulled out the box. Instead of pulling out the poster and handing it to her, he just gave her the whole box to open for herself, to get the full story (not that it was very full, so far). 

After glancing up at him once more, as if asking for permission, she unclasped the silver latch and slid the lid open, carefully, as she did all things. First, she took out the scrap of paper that contained what was basically his mother’s Last Will and Testament, just highly informal. And vague, for that matter. 

She nodded to herself a couple times as her eyes skimmed the paper, and then she must’ve gotten to the last word, because she set it back down and picked up the poster. HIS poster. Whoever HE was. Her eyes widened at the price, the long string of felonies, or the highly intimidating sketch-maybe all three-but unlike Isaac-who had been a little too busy reeling from the death of his mother and the confusion of the message to really pay attention to details-she really analyzed the paper, reading every word and seemingly trying to puzzle out what all of it could mean, just like him. 

One time she stopped in the middle of her analysis and looked up at him, then back down at the poster, then back up at him again, at least ten times. He wished she would’ve explained why she was doing it, but at the end she just shook her head dismissively and continued on her search for answers. And by the time she was done, he’d totally forgotten it had even happened. 

“First of all,” she traced her finger along the page until she found what she was looking for, then beckoned him over to look, “look at the date. September of 1892. SEVEN years ago. Which means a few things. One, your mother knew this is what she wanted for a LONG time, at LEAST since you were-what, eight? That is pretty important. Second, it means this information is outdated. His bounty could be higher now, AND this location information, little though there is, is probably completely inaccurate. Which is not exactly a bad thing, since if you are really going to look for this man, it would be awfully inconvenient if he was still that far out west. But also, it means you have no real leads.” He nodded-he'd already assumed he’d had no real leads, and he hadn’t even read that part of the poster, so it didn’t really change any of his plans. Not that he had any plans. “But it also means, like I said, that his bounty could be higher, and he’s probably committed a further string of violent crimes since then. That is, if he hasn’t died or been caught since this poster was put up. That’s a lot of unknowns.” 

Isaac sighed deeply. This seemed to be getting more and more impossible and strange the more he learned. “I don’t even know if I want to go after this guy. I mean, I WANT to, because I know my ma wouldn’t just tell me to do it if she didn’t have a reason, but I can’t figure out what that reason is. And she did say IF I'm lost, I CAN look for him. It wasn’t exactly a command.” 

“Are you not lost, though? Do you have any other family you could stay with?” 

“No, none.” 

“Any family friends who might be willing to take you in?” 

His mind instantly went to the O’Henrys. They’d been friends of his mother for years, since literally before he could remember, and they’d always liked him. But, they now thought he was dead. And if he turned up and asserted that he, in fact, was not dead, it would raise a lot of questions that he wasn’t ready, or even able, to answer. He had enough going on, he was NOT about to be framed for his mother’s murder. He felt that Esmerelda could understand that, considering her situation, so he told her what happened, starting with coming home and it being quiet, and the stove he left burning (he could tell when he said that that she knew where this was going), and going upstairs to find... her... and then the note, the box, the FIRE, the escape, and-well, she knew the rest. 

“So, I can’t exactly go back now. It looks horribly suspicious, like I burned down the house or something.” 

She flashed him a dry smile. “I mean technically, you DID-” he opened his mouth to protest-”No, I know what you mean. Yeah, I guess you’re kind of stuck on the path you’re already following, like me.” 

“So, you think I should find this guy?” 

She pursed her lips. “I... this is such a weird situation, I must admit. It doesn’t feel right, but if your mother was as stern and levelheaded as you say she was, she had to have had a reason for leaving you with this. You’re sure you don’t know this man? At all?” 

He nearly brought up how he looked *almost* familiar, but he hesitated. It wasn’t a very good sketch, and vague enough to where you may associate it with any number of rough-looking cowboys. Still, something about it reminded him of...something. “I... no. I don’t think so.” 

“Hmm. Then it’s really up to you. I think you should try to do a little more digging before you make any decisions, maybe try and figure out why she would say to find HIM specifically. But, in the meantime-” she lifted herself off the hard ground, brushing off her skirt and motioning him to follow her as she walked over to the horses, “-I have some information that may interest you, if you’re heading out to Strawberry. I suppose it’s your call, but you seem good with a gun, AND you are on a hunt for a dangerous criminal, so-well, just... If you’re in Strawberry and looking to make a bit of extra cash, as I’m sure you are-” He nodded expectantly, “-head to the station attendant at the post office, his name’s Hector. So, they have a lot of different signals, just so that it couldn’t be uncovered, but if you tap three times on the counter, he’ll-” she leaned in closer and lowered her voice, as if someone was going to hear her in this dense, isolated forest, “-he’ll give you a tip for a stagecoach robbery. If there’s one coming in.” 

Isaac inhaled sharply, confused by her words. “If that isn’t the kind of work you want to involve yourself with, I respect that, I do-but all I'm saying is, you’re on your own, you’re on the move, at least for the time being, and-just remember it, in case you need it. All the power to you if you don’t. Alright?” 

He grunted in agreement, processing her words. A stagecoach robbery? It seemed to be such a wild concept, he was having a hard time processing it. Did she think he was really the rough sort, the kind to rob stagecoaches for fun? Before yesterday, he would’ve scoffed at the idea, but now... He DID just shoot two men out on the open road, solely because they had a woman tied up on the back of their horses. And yes, he stood by his decision to help her, as he now was certain she was innocent, but he hadn’t known that then. So... maybe he’d actually consider it. Maybe. A BIG maybe. He didn’t want to, and he didn’t like the fact that he was even considering it, but... things weren’t quite what they used to be. And if that meant he had to start living differently, then-he'd just have to. That, or die. At that thought, he thanked her for the information, jarring though it was, and waited while she retrieved his box once more. 

“What about you?” She looked surprised. 

“Me? What do you mean?” 

“I mean...” he thought for a moment. “Where are you going to go? I’ve got Strawberry, at least, and it ain’t much, but it’s a start, but where will you go?” 

She smiled warmly. “It’s kind of you to worry about me, but there’s no need. I think I'm actually going to head out Saint Denis way after all, even in spite of my distaste for big cities. My mother lives there, and I’m sure she’d let me stay with her. Then I can get myself back on my feet, whatever that means now, and from there? Who knows.” With that, she patted him on the shoulder, and he knew it was his cue to mount up and go, though he wished he could stay just a bit longer. 

He checked one last time that all of his belongings were accounted for, thanked her for all of her help, and mounted up. He hesitated a bit, but her encouraging smile urged him on, and soon he was leaving the clearing. 

“I hope we meet again someday!” Esmerelda yelled after him. 

He nodded in acknowledgement, but didn’t turn back to face her. He was done turning back. 

It was time to start moving forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! This was a very fun chapter to write. :)


	5. Almost Like Destiny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isaac got a new lead. And he's also broke. Is it immoral to want to not starve to death? Isaac doesn't think so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long! I posted like four whole chapters in the span of two days then dipped. I thought I would be able to keep that up at least somewhat, but school is just getting overwhelming, like I literally had no time to write-try though i did. I guess I'll only be able to write, and so publish chapters, during the weekends. But i'm sure most of you READ this kind of thing primarily on the weekends, right? I know i could just write a lot over the weekend and then publish it throughout the week, but i'm s u p e r impatient. So I'm probably just gonna be posting chunks of chapters during the weekend. So... enjoy!

BLACKWATER LEDGER 

MAY 3rd, 1899 

The infamous Van Der Linde gang has been spotted heading north from Blackwater after their notorious riverboat robbery of over $150,000 in banknotes has presumably pressured the criminals to flee the scene. Information gathered from various eyewitness accounts leads the Pinkertons to believe they were headed into the West Grizzlies, but extreme weather conditions in the area have prevented them from investigating this further. Meanwhile, if you see a caravan of roughly ten wagons traveling together, please send all reports by telegram to the Pinkerton Detective Agency, or contact your local sheriff. Beyond that, make sure to be on the lookout for: 

DUTCH VAN DER LINDE 

HOSEA MATTHEWS 

ARTHUR MORGAN 

MICAH BELL 

JOHN MARSTON 

CHARLES SMITH 

BILL WILLIAMSON 

Each name had a picture beside it, basically a bounty sketch, just shrunk down. It also had a tidbit of information to the side of each, but it was too small for Isaac to read in the harsh daylight. Not that he minded. Three days he had been in Strawberry, trying to ask around subtly without raising suspicion-but a teen boy who no one had ever seen before asking about a notorious criminal wasn’t exactly inconspicuous. So after receiving a few too many sidelong glances for his taste, as well as a strange encounter who only cared about finding his friend-Gary, or something-he decided to just keep a low profile and try to get information elsewhere. And this was the first real lead he’d gotten since, well, since he opened up that box and found the bounty poster to begin with. 

It was a shock to learn that this “Arthur Morgan”, who was already a dangerous, scary-looking and all-around lowlife kind of man, was a part of the Van Der Linde gang as well. He’d never heard of Arthur Morgan, but LORD had he heard of Dutch Van Der Linde. Theft, murder, and the consequent escape from any punishment seemed to be the rhythm of the Van Der Linde gang, and this was no exception. Maybe he had seen some of these names, including Morgan’s, before-but he didn’t remember it. 

Isaac had bought all of the papers since he arrived, hoping for a score like this-and here it was. Arthur Morgan was practically right under his nose, which was both beneficial and terrifying all at once. It was good, because he wouldn’t have to embark on an aimless chase throughout the country, but scary, because now he couldn’t put off the search with the excuse of him being hundreds of miles away. 

The Grizzlies were almost directly north of Strawberry, to where he could technically start looking for this scary gang right away. But if these highly specialized agents weren’t willing to brave the weather up there, then neither was he. 

The best part, however, were the pictures. Well drawn, realistic, precise, and NEW, Isaac spent what must’ve been hours memorizing their faces-especially Arthur’s-and comparing it to the bounty poster. It was like this one newspaper had solved all of his problems in the span of a day, and now he had a clear objective, updated info, and a sort-of plan. The only problem, however, was that he was all out of money. 

Despite his night spent under the stars in the forest, Isaac was none too fond of camping, and had invested his money in night stays at the inn. Not a huge problem, it had seemed-the inn was fairly cheap. And then he bought some bread, and some apples. Plus ALL of the newspapers he could find. Some new replacement rounds for his gun, a knife-things just added up without him realizing. And it wasn’t like he had much money to begin with. 

So now he sat on the side of the dirt-covered roads, leaning on the side of a building and watching as Jamie nibbled on some grass to his right. Too bad he wasn’t a horse. Horses didn’t need any money to not starve. 

Jamie nickered softly, and Isaac was certain that she was laughing at him. He shook his head dejectedly. “We’ll see how you feel when you start going into apple withdrawals.” Jamie ignored him, as she so often did. 

Well, it’s not like he hadn’t tried to find another option. But now his money was gone, his options were utterly nonexistent, and what he did have was a valuable lead. Plus, stagecoach robbing wasn’t THAT horrible, right? It’s not like he would be KILLING people. And if someone is rich enough to have a stagecoach, they surely didn’t need all that money. 

He stood in the back for a bit, watching the flow of traffic, analyzing the man with the bushy facial hair who he assumed was Hector, and pretending to be very interested in the notices on the wall, until the line started to shrink and the last person walked out the door, leaving him and Hector alone. 

“Can I help you, young man?” He crossed his arms expectantly. 

“In fact,” said Isaac, striding slowly up to the window, “I think you just might.” He leaned forward, drumming his fingers idly across the wood surface-one, two, three. “I’ve been told you might be the person to ask about an... intriguing business offer.” The man said nothing, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “BUT! If that’s not you, I’m sorry. Maybe I've got the wrong guy, or-” 

“Oh no, you’ve got the right guy.” He looked around a bit, making sure no one else was eavesdropping. “You seem a little young, though. For this particular line of work.” 

Isaac raised an eyebrow, remembering with a certain smugness the way he’d shot those bounty hunters in the middle of the road-something he’d been immensely bothered by only a few days earlier. Had he really changed that much? “Maybe I am, maybe I'm not. You like money, right? Don’t seem like there’s anyone else here lining up to take this job, and you and I both know they’re rather...time sensitive.” The man’s eyes lingered on his face, and he knew that he was looking at the scar which, as he’d seen in the inn room mirror, made him look actually threatening despite his youth. And then, he nodded, albeit uncertainly, bending down to retrieve something from under the counter. 

“Alright, kid. I’ll give you a smaller one first, prove you can handle it, and maybe we’ll talk about something a little bigger. But this is a banking coach, coming up from Van Horn down into Blackwater. It’ll be carrying gold until it makes it’s detour into Strawberry to sell it, so I recommend waiting until after it’s left Strawberry. That is, unless you’d rather have to carry the gold yourself. If not, it’ll be transporting the cash down into Blackwater to put it into an account at the bank-giving you a shorter timeframe to hit it. Personally, I recommend waiting up on the ridge as it crosses the Upper Montana before making a move on it, but you do you. It’ll be here in an hour. Here’s the summary,” he passed him a slip of paper that was folded up neatly. Then a couple men walked in the door. “Get lost, kid.” Isaac nodded, heading back to where Jamie had been munching on grass. It took every ounce of self restraint he had not to dash over, but he couldn’t draw attention. Now more than ever. 

Once he was mounted up and heading out of Strawberry at a trot, he pulled out his map, trying to make sense of all the instructions he had been given. He was new to the area, after all. 

Van Horn was apparently some trading post way northeast of Strawberry. And then Blackwater he’d heard of, from the newspaper and just from conversations he’d overheard back at home. A developing city, predicted to one day be just as big and bustling as Saint Denis-though he doubted that. But what it did have was a quickly growing economy, making it a perfect place for storing cash. And robbery, in Isaac’s case. He unfolded the slip of paper. 

“Cornwall Investment Co. Stagecoach. 

Gold from VH to Strawberry, Cash from Strawberry to Blackwater 

Carrying roughly three thousand in the lockbox inside 

Bring 2k back if you succeed 

Good luck” 

Well damn. 

Three thousand? That was insane. And Hector asking for a whopping 2 thousand of it seemed crazy, but on the other hand... A thousand dollars was still more money than he’d ever seen in his entire life. He could just run with the money, take the three thousand and continue on his hunt for the elusive Arthur Morgan, but something told him he’d better play this right. A partnership with this “Hector” could over time prove much more profitable than a single robbery, and three thousand might not be quite enough for his purposes. Before? It would’ve had him and his ma set for life, but that was a lifestyle that he for so many reasons couldn’t return to. Whether he liked it or not, he was stuck on this path, which might prove to be a bit costlier than his previous humble, quiet existence. So at that, it was decided, and he pulled the map back out as he set out from Strawberry. 

The scar reached almost all the way down his face, from up near his hairline, straight through his eye, down to his jaw, and when he needed to prove that he WAS a criminal, it was highly useful. But now it was crucial that he was NOT identified as a criminal, and the nervous looks he got as he rode out toward the Upper Montana did not ease his nervousness at the upcoming stagecoach robbery. For the past few days, he’d done as Esmerelda said, applying those strange creams and for the most part staying out of the sun-a hat would probably be useful, but he hadn’t thought about it-but other than that he tended to forget he even had a scar. Aside from an occasional throb when he’d contort his face in some expression that pulled on the newly-healed tissue, he tended to forget it existed. There was just too much going on, and the people of Strawberry had simply seemed too apathetic-or maybe just desensitized-to notice. But now, as he repeatedly came across these wealthy, almost high-society types on his journey, he was becoming increasingly aware of just how strange he must look. He brushed his longish hair in front of his face in an attempt to hide it, but it wasn’t quite that long and probably just served to make him look even more threatening. But no one outright SAID anything, and he arrived to the river without any problems, and soon enough he’d forgotten the entire issue once more. 

He got into position, remembering with some annoyance that the coach had been due to STRAWBERRY an hour from when he’d inquired, and probably wouldn’t leave for a good while after. So what was he supposed to do? It couldn’t have taken more than twenty minutes to get here. And it took no time at all to finalize the plan. Step one: get up on the ridge. Step two: point the gun from the ridge. Step three: Rob the coach. Wasn’t hard. 

Before he knew it he was trotting into blackwater, ignoring the stares from the people around him as he wove throughout the town. No real destination in mind, just exploring. It was definitely the biggest city he’d ever seen, though his frame of reference was made up of two very small towns. People bustled about in fancy dresses and sleek black suits, reeking of perfume and radiating snobbery. Something about it set Isaac on edge. It was like something straight out of a book, except it was right there in front of him. A large number of the people he saw were men in red vests, grey coats, and bowler caps, who seemed to walk with a greater purpose than the rest. He paid them no mind. Now, he was coming upon the sheriff’s office, and he suddenly remembered-Arthur Morgan had been here. Wouldn’t hurt to ask about him. 

He gave Jamie a pat on the head before walking in the double doors. The officer at the front desk eyed him suspiciously and straightened as he walked in. He set down the papers he had been skimming and folded his hands in front of him expectantly. “Need somethin, kid?” 

Isaac swallowed, suddenly nervous. “Uh... yeah. You know anything about Arthur Morgan?” 

He laughed incredulously. “Arthur Morgan? No, never heard of him.” Isaac gave him a strange look. “Of COURSE I know who Arthur Morgan is, him and the rest of that damn band of killers. Why? You don’t exactly look old enough for bounty hunting.” 

He pursed his lips. “Uhm... well, he-killed my pa. So I am gonna find him. You gonna stop me?” 

The man raised an eyebrow. “You are absolutely goin’ to get yourself killed. But if you want more info, Dunbar’s probably at the saloon. Y’know, observing. Keeping everyone out of trouble.” 

Isaac nodded, and turned to leave. “Seriously, though. There ain’t a version of that story where you survive. Just so you’re aware.” Isaac stared back at him. Said nothing. Turned back, and left. What was he supposed to say? It weren’t like he’d told the truth, anyhow-but the advice might still apply. Didn’t matter-he wasn’t backing out of this now. If he didn’t have this to search for, then what was he supposed to do? He was pretty much running entirely on the assumption that finding this Arthur Morgan would solve all of his problems. His mom had seemed to think so, apparently. 

He hopped back on Jamie, and it wasn’t far before he’d arrived in front of the building that was very clearly labeled “Saloon”. An intimidating sight, for sure. A man stumbled out the front door, grabbed unsuccessfully at the wall, and fell flat on his face. He didn’t get back up. Isaac took a deep breath. 

The minute he walked in, the smell was...unpleasant, to say the least. Thankfully, it wasn’t quite as rowdy as some of the bars he’d heard tale of, but it was still a scary sight. For some reason, the sight of the man in a police uniform in the far corner of the room, watching over the people like a lion watches over his plains, brought him no comfort. He thought perhaps he was just being paranoid, so he walked over. 

“Kid, you need to be heading on out. Ain’t got no business being in a saloon this young.” Isaac shook his head adamantly. 

“No sir, I ain’t here to cause trouble. I actually came looking for you. You’re the police chief?” 

He leaned forward curiously, and Isaac took that as an invitation to sit. “That I am. Is there something wrong?” 

“Oh, no sir-I mean, not at this exact moment... but I came to ask you about Arthur Morgan? Man at the station said you might know something?” 

He sighed. “Lord. Do I ever. Not so much as Van Der Linde, mind, but he’s caused his fair share of trouble himself. Why?” 

“Er... I'm trying to find him. He killed my pa, back out near...” He tried to remember some of the places that had been on his map. “Armadillo. So I'm gonna kill him.” 

Dunbar laughed. “Are you, now?” Isaac nodded. “Suppose I remember word of him being out that way. I don’t recommend it, if you were wondering-but I'm sure you weren’t. So, Morgan, huh?” Isaac waited. “Let’s see...he was living on the streets of some big city waaaay out west till he was like, ehh.. Fourteen? Fifteen? Something like that, then Van Der Linde picked him up. Him and the older guy, Matthews.” Isaac nodded. The name was vaguely familiar-from the newspaper, probably. “Started around 1875 or so, picked up Morgan around 1878, and now I hear they’re about twenty strong. They went through all sort of towns, Beccs around 94, Morrows around 92, Kilgate around 84...” Woah. Kilgate was HIS town. Definitely interesting, but he said nothing. “At least, that’s what I remember from the headlines. Right now, they’re up north somewhere, holed up in the mountains-I trust you’ve heard why.” Isaac nodded. “So, unless you’re of a mind to travel up into the Grizzlies in the middle of a blizzard, I’d wait until they make another headline. Knowing them, it won’t be long, and then you can hop on their trail alongside the hundreds of bounty hunters who’ve been chasing them for years. Good luck, is all I can say. Now get lost. Doesn’t look good if I let a kid hang out in the saloon.” 

“Oh, uh... alright then. Thanks, sir.” Chief Dunbar nodded, and he left. Didn’t get much information as far as finding them, but what had he expected? But the fact that they’d come through his hometown was awfully interesting. And... 1884? Huh. He was born in December of 84. Funny coincidence. 

He hadn’t been in Blackwater for long, but just to be safe, Isaac wasted no time getting back to his perch over the ridge. He made sure his gun was loaded, gave Jamie a good brushing to boost morale, and leaned on a nearby tree as he watched where the road dissolved into the horizon for the coach to arrive. 

Earlier, he’d been horribly impatient. But now, even though he knew it would be a good half hour before the coach arrived, it felt like he had nowhere he wanted to be but here. Like this was where the universe wanted him to be, where HE wanted to be. Something about it just felt right. 

Like destiny, maybe. Like fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a whoooole lot happened here... but i promise it's finna get exciting!!!!!!!!!! i swear!!!!!!!!! don't give up on me!!!!!!!!!!!


	6. Careless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a little more to crime than waving your gun around and getting an endless supply of cash. But does Isaac understand that?

Right on time, the stagecoach appeared on the horizon. They were still at least three minutes away, but Isaac’s heart still beat a little faster. Even more so when they were a little closer and he could see clearly that the coach was flanked by two men on horseback, each carrying a rifle. Then he noticed that the man beside the driver was also armed. AND there could be more guards inside the coach. Seriously, was being heavily guarded not an important enough detail for Hector to bother mentioning? 

Well, there was still time to make another plan. Which was good, because acting tough and waving his gun around wasn’t going to scare off multiple armed guards quite like it would’ve a couple helpless coach drivers. But had he really thought it would be that easy? 

Instead, he’d have to ACTUALLY shoot them. And probably kill them, unless he wanted a repeat of the incident that gave him this nasty scar across his face. This was something he came to terms with a little easier than he would’ve liked. You were supposed to feel bad about killing people, right? Wasn’t there supposed to be some moral dilemma accompanying theft and murder? Maybe it was just instinct. Them, by his bullet, or him, from starvation, and unlike the last time he was faced with this issue, the choice was easy. He had a job to do now. He needed money to do it. It was as simple as that. 

So, he crawled along the edge of the ridge, watching the coach’s painfully slow progression to where he lie in wait. He couldn’t hit them from this far, he’d have to wait until they were down in the gap-and effectively trapped-to open fire. A good thing, because they would either stop and make his job so much easier, or keep going forward until they were directly under him and even easier to pick off one by one. A bad thing, because he’d have a very short window of time to eliminate all of the guards and get away. He’d just have to do it right. 

The coach was twenty feet away. Isaac pulled the gun from the holster. 

Fifteen feet. He cocked the hammer back slowly. 

Ten. Brought the gun up level with the head of the guard farthest from him. 

Five. Took a deep breath. 

Last chance to back out? Nope, not going to do it. But on a snap decision he shifted his gun toward the driver. Seemed like a better start. 

BANG! A hole in the middle of the driver’s head, the man in shotgun grabbing wildly for the reins, the two guards waving their guns all about, and Isaac dashing toward Jamie to place himself in their way. Wasn’t as hard as last time he’d shot someone. Almost felt...natural. 

A rapid, frantic snap of the reins, the frenzied pounding of the horses’ hooves on the dry earth, then a screeching crack followed by a dull thud. Isaac turned the corner. He couldn’t believe his luck-the wheel had come off. 

The man holding the reins had finally noticed his appearance, and was slowly reaching for his back-not gonna happen. There was a bullet in his brain before he even touched his gun. 

Then the two guards spotted him, and the first one was on the ground in seconds. Their horses had started to buck, and the second man went flying. Isaac’s attempt to finish him off was slightly skewed and the bullet hit him in the leg, but that plus the resounding thud as his head hit the pavement assured him that he wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon. So on to the coach. 

The door was bolted shut, to keep people like him out, no doubt-but that wasn’t going to stop him. He still had two rounds left. He aimed, barely inches from the lock. The bullet smashed into the metal and the crash seemed to echo throughout all the plains, but he was probably just being paranoid. 

He reached for the door, but remembered last minute that there could still be someone inside. So he reloaded his gun. Waited a bit, listened. He didn’t hear anything besides the rustling of leaves in the breeze and the light panting of Jamie to his left. He grabbed the metal door by the mangled crevice by the lock, throwing it open and swinging up his gun- 

Nope. No one. He let out a breath, glancing around one last time, and climbed into the coach. It smelled metallic and strange-of course it did, it was made out of METAL-but obviously the first thing that caught his eye was the lockbox. Another lock he had to shoot, so he did. It popped off with a much louder BANG than the last one, since he was in an enclosed space this time. He lifted up the lid. Sure enough, there were stacks upon stacks of $20 bills. He wondered why they didn’t just use $100’s, but it wasn’t his problem. He grabbed the money, dashing out of the coach and stuffing it down in Jamie’s saddlebag. Now that he had done what he’d come here to do, like, ACTUALLY done it, he was in a rush to get home. Or, to Strawberry. Didn’t exactly have a home to go to. 

The adrenaline was wearing off, and how Isaac was in a serious rush to leave. He couldn’t believe that he’d just ROBBED a STAGECOACH. It wasn’t the robbing, or the MURDER that bothered him-he just didn’t want to get caught. His heart was hammering all the way home, but he somehow saw no one else on the way. A woman carrying a basket full of laundry even smiled at him, which felt wrong in a way he couldn’t put his finger on. After what he’d just done, and the world was just continuing on as if it had never happened. And to these people, maybe it hadn’t. Which should’ve made him feel guilty, but instead it just emboldened him. If an entire town of people didn’t notice when he shot and killed four men in broad daylight and robbed their money, then who knows what else he could get away with? 

He pulled Jamie back behind a building so that he could count the money in peace. It took a while, and he had to restart a couple times. He’d never been great at numbers. In the end, it came out to $3,068. Which was insane. 

Keeping up with his end of the bargain, he pulled 2 thousand out of the stack, leaving the rest in his saddlebags-because it wasn’t like someone would suspect someone as raggedy and young as him to be carrying that kind of cash-and sauntered over to the post office. Just like last time, he waited patiently, monitoring the people who came in and out until he was absolutely sure he would be alone. Hector had underestimated him. But he’d delivered, all the same. 

With that thought, he pushed through the door with a sudden confidence that had eluded him only ten minutes prior, saying nothing, just smacking the stack of bills down onto the counter. Hector turned, glanced up curiously, then back down at the table-shock. 

“Didn’t think I could do it, old man?” 

Hector shook his head, dumbfounded. “Thought you’d be dead.” 

Isaac laughed. “You’d prefer I was dead? Over two thousand dollars?” 

“No. I didn’t want you to be dead. I assumed you’d be dead. You’re-what, fifteen? Sixteen? Where does a boy like you learn how to rob stages?” 

Isaac just shrugged, a smug smirk adorning his face, accentuating his scar in a way that he hoped made him like fierce. Fearsome. “You here to ask questions, or do you got another one for me?” Hector stared a moment more, as if he couldn’t believe any of this was happening, but he dug under the counter nonetheless. 

“Nothing else today, but tomorrow-right at the break of dawn-one of Cornwall’s coaches is heading down, got some cash, and a bit of extra valuables too. No guards aside from the man beside the driver. Should be pretty easy.” 

“Yeah, about that. Why didn’t you tell me the last coach had two armed guards? Kind of had to make some last-minute change of plans there.” 

Hector shrugged indifferently. “It was a three-thousand-dollar coach. Did you think it would be easy?” 

“Well, no. But you still could’ve told me.” 

“Noted. But for future reference, anything with more than a thousand inside will probably be guarded.” 

“I thought you said you were starting me out with a smaller coach, to ‘Prove I could handle it’?” 

“Yeah, well. No one else had claimed it, and I wasn’t of a mind to lose two thousand dollars. Plus, you lived, didn’t you?” 

“So you DID want me to die?” 

Hector rolled his eyes. “How would I have gotten the money if you’d died?” 

“So you-” Isaac stopped. He was going to say something about how he only wanted him alive for the money, but was KILLING people for the money any better? So he bit his tongue. “Alright, well. I should be going. Can I have the paper?” 

Hector nodded, passing it to him. “It’s coming from up at Cornwall Kerosene and Tar, I’m sure you know where that is-” Isaac nodded, though really he’d never heard of it. He’d have to check his map afterward. “-to Wallace Station. Again, you could try to hit it when they cross the river-the Dakota, this time-or pretty much at any point before that. But if you’re within sight of Wallace Station, someone will sound the alarm, and if you do it in sight of the oil fields-well, you and I both know that’s a death sentence. So, pretty much anywhere between Citadel Rock and Cumberland Falls, and you should be good.” The door opened, and it almost made Isaac jump. Hector passed him the sheet of paper without another word, and Isaac nodded his thanks. 

Back at his room at the inn-for he now had a room at the inn again, since he could more than afford it-he studied his map again, tracing his hand along the road lines that connected all the different names Hector had given him. One of the roads went right by some town called Valentine-but Hector hadn’t mentioned it, so he felt it was safe to assume they’d take the other route. Because a whole town in the way was a pretty important detail to mention-right? Of course, he hadn’t bothered to mention that the first coach was heavily guarded, so who knows. It would probably be best to catch them right before they crossed the Dakota, because both of the paths they could take converged there. He unfolded the slip of paper. 

“Cornwall Coach 

Cash and a few valuables in the lockbox at the back 

One gun next to the driver 

About $750 total 

Bring half back 

Could hit near the Dakota ?” 

Isaac smiled. He’d be out of here, hunting down Arthur Morgan, in no time. Sooner or later, they’d have new information on him. After all, when you cause that much trouble, the law tends to work a little harder to send a little trouble back your way. It’s simple facts. 

He had no idea just how right he was. 

————————————————————————

Dunbar looked up over the papers he’d been filling out, meeting the confused gaze of the officer at the front desk. That was the second shot. BANG! Then a third. It was fairly distant. Probably about a mile out. But there were never gunshots in Blackwater. Not since that horrendous riverboat robbery, anyway. 

“Come on, Garett.” The man nodded, following him out the door. A fourth shot, louder this time now that they were out in the open. A couple of the patrolling officers were riding toward them, and Dunbar nodded. Wouldn’t hurt to bring them. 

A fifth gunshot. A pause. They were riding faster now. A sixth shot, more muffled than the rest. Garett rode up beside him. “Y’know, chief...there was supposed to be a coach coming in right about now. From Strawberry.” Dunbar nodded grimly. Perhaps they were just being paranoid, but they couldn’t afford to take any chances now. A return of the Van Der Lindes, or any gang for that matter, could bring Blackwater down to a place from which it wouldn’t return. They’d barely recovered from the first incident. 

They kept waiting for another shot, but it didn’t come. The two men who’d ben on patrol already had their rifles out, and Garett and Dunbar pulled out their weapons as well. They slowed collectively, trotting up toward the ridge that overlooked the Upper Montana. Still nothing, and none of the usual sounds of frenzied celebration and rushed planning that usually accompanied a gang job. It was unusually quiet. 

It wasn’t until they crested the ridge that someone gasped, and Dunbar hurried forward. The sight before him, though he’d been hoping to be wrong, didn’t come as a surprise to him. 

The horses from the coach were still there, heads hung low and stamping nervously at the ground. The men in the front of the coach were leaned at strange angles, unnaturally bent and deathly pale. Two gunshots to the head, gushing blood everywhere. It was disgusting. Garett looked away, but Dunbar was too used to this kind of thing. It just made him sad. 

The guard to the left had suffered a similar fate, having fallen completely off of his horse-though where that horse was now, Dunbar couldn’t say-and faceplanted into the dirt, blood pooling at his head. The three officers looked uneasy, and Dunbar gestured for them to check inside the coach. The door was already open, and a whole in the side indicated that whoever had done this had blown it open. Garett continued to stare blankly at the whole scene. The two others dismounted and walked over toward the door, keeping their sights trained on the inside until they were sure it was empty. One went in to investigate while the other stood guard at the door. 

Dunbar looked between the two men on top of the coach, the hole in the door, and the man on the ground. The officer exited the coach. “Lockbox was shot open too.” Dunbar nodded. 

“One bullet for each, I'd assume?” Henry, the one who’d gone into the coach, nodded. “So. That’s one for the lockbox, one for the door, one for the driver, one for the other guy-” He stepped back, scrutinizing the body of the guard to his right, “-and one for this here guard, from what I can tell. That’s five.” 

Garret’s eyes widened. The others nodded. 

“There was supposed to be two guards. And the other guy’s obviously shot-he couldn’t have gotten far. Find him.” 

——————————————————————

A kid. A kid had robbed their stagecoach. Alone. It was insane. Utterly insane. He couldn’t believe he was alive, though he wouldn’t be for much longer. Apparently he’d looked bad enough for him to assume that he was dead. Which was great, because he played dead long enough until he was sure the kid was long gone, then dragged himself down the path, near the riverbed, and hid behind some rocks near the cliff edge. Not so great, however, because his leg was starting to seriously throb, and he had a strange pounding in his head. A concussion, probably, but the main concern was the bullet wound that had been pouring blood ever since he’d been shot. He wouldn’t last ten minutes like this. 

At some point, he tried to stand. He got a firm grasp on the rock in front of him, trying to slowly lift himself up on his good leg, but it was useless. His vision swam, and the moment he put any pressure on the other leg, it buckled underneath him. It seemed he was stuck out here. 

He’d crawled over to the other side of the rock, maybe out of the hope that someone might find him, maybe just because he felt utterly useless. He closed his eyes and slowly started to drift off, wondering if it would be the last time. 

“Chief! CHIEF! We found him! CHIEF! Over by the rocks! C’mere!” 

He blinked awake slowly. The sun was right above him, and he held a hand in front of his face to shield himself from the light. Had he just imagined that voice? It was probably just a dream. Or... was he dead? Not likely, his leg was still throbbing horribly. Unless this was hell, that didn’t seem like the kind of thing that stuck with you after you die. 

“Hey, hey, you alive?” 

Apparently. He wasn’t dead-yet. He groaned, running a hand over his face. He wished whoever was there would just go away, let him die in peace. 

“Were you a guard back there on that coach?” 

Didn’t seem like they were going to let him be. Slowly he opened his eyes. 

“Chief Dunbar?” 

“Mhm. Think I've seen you before ‘round Blackwater. Got yourself in quite a scrape here, huh?” 

He nodded slowly. The edges of his vision were getting blurry. “Don’t got much time left, I reckon.” 

Chief Dunbar nodded solemnly. “Don’t seem that way, no sir.” A pause. Did they leave? No. Someone shuffled around near him. Voices, muffled. Seemed miles away. 

“You have any idea who did this?” 

“Mhm...it was a kid. A damn kid.” 

“A kid? What did he look like?” 

He hesitated. “Eh... kinda scrawny thing. Didn’t get much of a good look at ‘im... seein as he was shooting at us.” He thought for a moment, leaning back on the rock. “Had a real nasty looking scar. That I know. All the way down his face.” Dunbar nodded, eyes widening in surprise. He felt that was a sign. That he’d done what he was supposed to. They didn’t need him any more. And at that, he let his eyes drift shut, one last time. 

——————————————————————

“Is he dead?” 

Dunbar nodded. “Looks like it.” He stood up, brushing off his jeans and heading back to his horse. The others followed quickly behind. 

“So, a kid with a scar. What are the chances that it’s the EXACT same kid who came into the station just over an hour ago, asking after you?” 

“That’s exactly what I was thinking. Honestly? 100%. Tracked me down to ask about ARTHUR MORGAN of all people, so I was like whatever, gave him a quick rundown-he hung onto every word like it was life or death. So strange.” 

Garett laughed. “Guess that’s his role model, or something,” he said, gesturing back toward the wreckage of the coach robbery. 

“Hmm... yeah. Or something.” He almost mentioned how the kid had looked eerily like a certain outlaw, but that was probably just his imagination. “But he’s dangerous, really. I mean, have you ever seen one PERSON take out an entire armed stagecoach alone, let alone a kid as young as that? They always travel in packs. But this DAMN KID did it all by himself.” Garett nodded. 

“Are you gonna put out a bounty?” 

“Of course. Gonna have to find that sketch artist again. Thank God I saw him, cause that guard back there wasn’t gonna live long enough to give a comprehensible description. Why, don’t think I should?” 

“No, no. You should, just making conversation. How much?” 

“Mm... I was thinking... 500?” 

Garett raised an eyebrow. “Sir... 500? He’s just a kid. For a bounty like that, someone will have found him by tomorrow. Then we’ll be out 500$ and the governor’s gonna march down to the sherriff’s office wondering why we just wasted that much on a petty criminal.” 

Dunbar narrowed his eyes. “Maybe...but something tells me it won’t be that easy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeahhh  
i mean does he not understand how witnesses work  
lol  
thanks for reading


	7. Not So Fast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Cockiness – the state subjective or intuitive state of self-assurance – is a sign of ignorance. Maturity comes with encountering the horrible and learning about what a person can withstand.”  
― Kilroy J. Oldster, Dead Toad Scrolls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> basically i only update on the weekends... but it still feels like this took me forever to write. Mostly because it did. Just couldn't figure out how to start it, i guess, but here it is! Back again with the nefarious adventures of our very own outlaw child

WANTED ALIVE 

REWARD: $500 

UNNAMED MINOR of whom below sketch is said to be an accurate likeness of 

Age estimated around 15/16 yrs 

Wanted for the slaughter of multiple armed guards and the robbery of at least $3,000 from a stagecoach headed for Blackwater bank 

Last seen near the Blackwater area 

Contact Chief Dunbar of the Blackwater police department for more information 

\-----------------------

$1,000 from the coach by the Upper Montana. 

$375 from the coach he’d hit up near the Dakota. 

Then, over the past couple weeks, he’d amassed an additional two thousand over the various jobs Hector sent him out on. Hector took a pretty big cut of each, but that didn’t bother him anymore. It’s not like he could do this without Hector, and this recent tip was probably the best yet. A total of $7,000 coming by train all the way from Saint Denis to Wallace Station, from which it would be transferred into a stagecoach to travel the rest of the way down to Blackwater. Why were so many of the coaches going to Blackwater? Didn’t matter to him. All he cared about was the money at this point. And aside from that first job that he was utterly unprepared for, he hadn’t had to kill anyone since then. While the prospect didn’t bother him quite as much as it used to, he still preferred it this way. Waving his gun around, scaring a couple coach drivers into unlocking their lock boxes and sending them on their way when it was done. 

This coach was going to be crossing in the exact same spot on the Upper Montana as the first one he’d hit, BUT it was heavily guarded. Even more so, as it had four men on horseback, one guard by the driver, AND two men inside. But at least he knew what to expect this time. Never occurred to him that robbing a stagecoach with THIS much security ALONE was a strange, unreasonable thing to do. Nor did it occur to Hector that sending a lone fifteen-year old to do the job was a bit strange. But hey, he was a damn good shot for fifteen. Or any age, for that matter. 

Once again, setting himself up on top of the ridge. Pulling Jamie out of sight. Making sure he had some spare ammo handy to reload. Come to think of it, he probably should’ve bought a rifle or something before doing this-a revolver wasn’t exactly the most efficient way to carry out a robbery against eight men. Too late now. 

There it was, cresting the horizon, bright red and fancy-looking, two men on horses in the front AND the back. A bit intimidating, if he were to be honest. So much could go wrong with a job like this, but with an additional thirty-five-hundred dollars, so much could go RIGHT. 

He’d already pulled his gun from his hip, and now he lay on the hot ground, following the driver with his sights while making sure to not make himself visible from under the ridge. Things like this were really about timing, and being seen-or worse, shooting-at the wrong time could give them the opportunity to escape in a way that wouldn’t make it possible to follow. Or they could just kill him. There was always that. 

Time seemed to slow down to a crawl as the coach entered the crevice, that familiar golden haze coating the world around him. In an instant the driver was down, then the man next to him, and then a single bullet clean in the head of each of the guards. Then the world was still once again, save for the soft rustling of the leaves of the tree he’d positioned himself by. He waited for a minute, watching the coach door to see if the remaining two guards would jump out. They didn’t. 

He reloaded his gun, jogging over to Jamie and mounting up. He listened closely for the telltale creak of the door opening, but it never happened. He dismounted again at the bottom, creeping slowly forward, waiting for a sign of movement that never came. 

He shot the lock off, waiting once more as the door slid open toward him. The wind had picked up, and every rustle of the leaves seemed to set him on edge. Was it footsteps or the skipping of a rock off the ledge? Was it the breath of a hidden guard or the rush of the wind by his head? Was- 

“Don’t shoot! Please!” One man stepped out onto the dirt, hands held high above his head in surrender. Another one followed, stepping hastily out and toward the first. Isaac widened his eyes. Should he kill them? It didn’t look like they had their guns on them, and any other damage they could do-in a grander scheme of things-didn't occur to him. 

“We’re unarmed. Please, let us go. You can have the money, I don’t care! I’m not ready to die!” The other man nodded desperately. Isaac scowled between the both of them, finally stepping to the side and motioning for them to go. 

“Run along. Go. Get out of my sight.” After a moments hesitation they obliged, dashing frantically up the road and towards Blackwater. Isaac sighed. At least they were gone. 

He stepped up into the coach, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. The lockbox was in the same place as it seemed to be in any armored coach-a fatal design flaw, if you asked Isaac. Didn’t they know it made them so much easier to rob? 

Again, shooting open the box. It was like clockwork, and he smirked at the huge piles of cash he’d uncovered. After this, would he even need to do any more robberies? Well, technically he could’ve stopped after the first one, but something about it had him coming back for more each time. 

He stepped back out, and Jamie trotted over toward him. He took a minute to get his bearings once more before mounting up, the urgency to escape the scene of the crime somehow overpowered by the smug satisfaction of successfully carrying out yet another stagecoach robbery-and such a large one-all by himself. He surveyed his work, gruesome though it was, and almost felt-pride? Of course not. That would be horrible. He only did this for the money. Obviously. 

Isaac kicked his heels into Jamie’s sides, ready to get back to Strawberry and relax for a bit. Maybe even re-braid Jamie’s hair, as it needed a good brushing and he now knew how. He could get some more ammo, stock up on food at the general store, and maybe even set out to hunt down the elusive Arthur Morgan. 

He hadn’t even crossed the river when a bullet flew right past his ear, crashing into the water and making Jamie rear up in the air in fright. Isaac kicked his heels into Jamie’s sides once more-HARD, probably harder than he needed to-and she set off like lightning, splashing through the river in a desperate dash for the tree line. He turned back slowly, trying to keep his balance as the ground rushed by underneath him faster than he’d ever seen. Behind him, seven riders galloped forward in hot pursuit, barely even holding the reins as they fired continuously. He pulled up his own gun, tensing his arm to steady it as it shook with the rhythm of Jamie’s gallop, firing three bullets randomly in quick succession. He didn’t wait to see if any of them had met their mark, turning his focus to ensuring he didn’t slam into something as they bolted into the thicket, which inevitably slowed him down. He neglected to reload his gun, too distracted to remember that it would probably be a good idea to shoot back. 

Another rain of gunshots, and it was a wonder Jamie hadn’t just completely bucked him off. He almost thought they wouldn’t get him, but then something slammed into his side, shoving him forward to where he almost fell off the saddle. At first it didn’t even register that he’d been shot-logically, you’d think it would be immensely painful-Isaac just felt numb. Not just in his side, either, but all over. Jamie crashed through the trees and somehow ended up on an actual trail, hooves pounding and dirt flying. Isaac desperately pulled Jamie to the right to turn where the trail bent, shots flying left and right. The edges of his vision started to blur, and he shook his head firmly-but that only made it worse. 

Two more shots meeting their mark in rapid succession and he was down. He crashed into the dirt with a groan, head starting to throb. He pulled a hand up to his side, consequently soaking it in blood. 

The trees above him started to get darker and darker-when did it become night time? The rustling of the leaves started to fade, and the last thing he heard before he blacked out was the steady march of footsteps, stopping right beside his head. 

And then, nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a shorter chapter for suspense purposes, lol. next chapter will be up asap


	8. The First Shall Be The...First.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isaac was seriously outnumbered. So how is he still alive?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ever heard of writer's block? it's a helluva disease  
im back tho  
for the time being  
we shall see.  
hope you like this new installment in the Isaac Doesn't Know How To Be An Outlaw series

Trees swaying in the breeze, leaves rustling as they brushed up against one another. The singsong chirp of birds somewhere high up in the branches. It was peaceful. Familiar. Isaac wanted to lay there forever, basking in the warmth of the midday sun and the whispering of nature as the day went on. And he might have, except-  
Footsteps. He tensed automatically, regretting it immediately and hoping whoever it was hadn’t noticed. He didn’t dare open his eyes, pretending to be asleep as they passed right by his head, tinkering with something off to his left. A metallic jingle, a resounding click, Isaac itching to open his eyes to figure out what was going on. A horse’s whinny, then hoofbeats, then silence.  
Isaac opened his eyes.  
The first thing he noticed was not even his surroundings, but his lack of ability to survey them. Something tight wrapped around his torso, and he couldn’t turn, sit up, or barely even breathe. Was this what a corset felt like? Felt like bandages. Probably was bandages. Something sure hurt enough to warrant them, but he wasn’t sure what, or even how he got here-everything was a blur.  
After some alarmingly painful maneuvering, he managed to get himself into a sitting position, propped up against the conveniently close tree at his back. Where he’d apparently been asleep was in fact his bedroll, and there was another one across the small clearing. He almost wondered if Esmerelda had found him again, but that was silly. She was probably well situated in Saint Denis by now, barely sparing him a passing thought. So, who?  
Let’s see... meeting Hector up at the station, riding down to the ridge by the Upper Montana, sighting the coach, and then-  
“Jamie?!” Right off to his left was the horse in question, somehow still managing to tag along in spite of the turn of events. Jamie paid him no mind, pawing at the dirt and munching idly at the grass of the clearing. Using the few scattered trees as support he worked his way over to where Jamie stood, grimacing a bit at the odd misplaced step. A dull ache persisted in the back of his head as well as a bit of dizziness, but he paid it no mind. There was no way to know how long he had before they, whoever they were, would return.  
A thorough but efficient search of Jamie’s saddlebags proved that nothing had been taken, not even the thousands of dollars Isaac had amassed from Hector’s jobs. Seemed a great deal larger than when he’d last counted it, so... the coach job must’ve gone well, surely. Too bad he couldn’t remember any of it.  
If they weren’t from the Blackwater police, which he could pretty much nail out since they would’ve taken him straight back to the department if so, that didn’t leave him many options... aside from a bounty hunter. He didn’t even think he had a bounty, but maybe he’d accidentally amassed one? If so, this guy wasn’t going to let him stay here for long before dragging him right back up to Blackwater. Isaac considered jumping on Jamie and hightailing it out of there, but he could barely stand up straight, let alone ride.  
He pulled the revolver from the gun belt that had been haphazardly tossed aside near Jamie, making his way back over to his bedroll. He slid the gun into his sleeve, crossing his arms lightly over his chest so it would be easily accessible but still hidden.  
Then, he waited.  
And by “waiting”, apparently, Isaac had really meant “falling back asleep”.  
A few hours later he awoke again, the sound of hoofbeats returning once more. He almost raised his head to look and see who it was, but the weight of the weapon at his hand reminded him. His eyes slammed shut with nothing more than a startled gasp, which he was pretty sure wasn’t heard.  
Instead, the footsteps passed right by his head once more, heading off in the direction of the forest. Some rummaging around, then they returned, dumping what must’ve been a pile of fresh logs into the fire. Meaning they were turned away from him. Isaac opened his eyes.  
The man at the fire didn’t suddenly turn around at the slight shift of grass as Isaac turned his head, for which he was grateful. Instead, he continued fussing over the fire, setting up a pot over the flame and tossing some strange looking herbs into the water. He seemed pretty focused on the task, so Isaac took a minute to think.  
The man, in spite of the almost gentle way he seemed to work, was heavily armed. And alone. There was always the chance that somehow, someone on the same side of the law as Isaac had happened upon him at just the right time-but he doubted it. The likelier option, and also the less favorable one, was that this was a bounty hunter. Maybe he helped him escape from the police just so that he could turn him in for a reward. The man still hadn’t turned from his work, carefully crushing dried leaves into the pot. Isaac pulled out his gun.  
There’s nothing quite like trying to be covert while halfway immobile, slowly raising off the ground just inches at a time while bracing himself on the tree. And at the slight mistep brought on by a sudden bout of pain from his injuries, the man turned. Headfirst into a loaded revolver pointed right between his eyes.  
The man flinched backward, narrowly avoiding catching fire himself. He said nothing, eyes wide with surprise. But even this was done subtly, as if the man couldn’t manage to commit to a solid facial expression. So monotone, yet Isaac still saw the undercurrent of fear rippling through him. Now Isaac hesitated. Honestly, this was as far as he’d gotten in his planning.  
The man stared back at him. Isaac stared back. Both said nothing. Isaac started backing away toward where he knew Jamie grazed, keeping the gun level the whole way. Every step sent waves of pain up his spine, but he trudged on. He had to get out of here. He couldn’t let this bounty hunter turn him in, he’d be a goner for sure.  
The man had made no move to follow, or to move at all for that matter. He looked less afraid now, more inquisitive. Watching Isaac’s every move with great scrunity. Getting on to Jamie was a painful process to say the least, but Isaac gritted his teeth and kicked into her sides. He must not have been thinking straight, as now the gun lay limply at his side, and he didn’t even bother to keep an eye on the man. But if he had, he’d see that he hadn’t moved an inch from the fire.  
He kicked his heels into Jamie’s sides, feeling something tear in his side but too focused, or maybe too unfocused, to care. Instead he trudged onward, determined to get as far away from this bounty hunter and his prospective demise as possible. Every jostle of Jamie’s hooves into the Earth tore at his wounds, and little did he know his bandages were now completely soaked.  
He didn’t make it 50 feet before he hit the ground.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Quite frankly, Charles had had a no good, very bad day. The poor man just wanted to go hunting.  
Instead, he’d been dragged along to go rescue Sean MacGuire from those damned bounty hunters down by Blackwater. Which might not have been so bad, had it not been the notoriously-talkative, notoriously-obnoxious Irishman in question that had needed saving. And had he not been dragged along with Josiah Trelawny, who could probably talk eloquent circles around the geniuses of the time, without ever having said anything at all. AND had it not been right by Blackwater, the city of all those bad memories. He’d known deep down that Sean, who had been abducted during the BLACKWATER job, would be near BLACKWATER, but somehow that hadn’t seemed to really sink in until they were almost there. Nevermind all that, at least it was over now.  
And, one good thing in a sea of bad, Sean’s safety on the journey back to Horseshoe had been placed into the hands of Javier Escuella, a.k.a NOT Charles. He’d seen and then ignored that frantic look in Javier’s eye when Arthur had placed that duty onto him. After all, Arthur did say it was best they split up. If Arthur said Sean was Javier’s problem, he was Javier’s problem, and Charles felt no need to question his decision.  
Now Arthur was behind him, looting Ike Skelding’s camp that had been turned to a graveyard by the three men, and Javier and Sean were probably somewhere off to his left, no doubt closer to home than he was. He was in no rush to get back.  
Especially since the inevitable “Welcome Home, Sean” party loomed inevitably on the horizon. It wasn’t planned, mind, but of COURSE it would happen. With this group and their need for a celebration, it was inescapable. Charles didn’t begrudge them for it, but he certainly wouldn’t be hurt if he “accidentally” missed it while on an extended hunting trip.  
For the time being he trotted along, enjoying the relative quiet of the afternoon. For roughly five seconds, anyway. And then, just like before when he’d been perched on the ledge of the cliff, the sound of gunshots rang out loud and clear, it’s source nowhere in sight. Charles cursed under his breath, pulling out his sawed-off from its holster. They must’ve run into more patrols. Or maybe even the Blackwater police, if someone had managed to get there and back so fast. So onward he rode.  
He wove through the trees toward the direction of the fire, mentally calculating just how many men would be firing that much. Excluding the undoubtedly ceaseless firing that Javier and Sean would’ve been delivering, there had to be at least six men. At least.  
The gunfire slowed, right as Charles burst from the treeline onto the road-nearly tripping over a downed horse in the middle of the road. Shame. He wheeled Taima to the left where the sound of the scuffle continued to fade away, giving a quick cursory scan of the corpse on the other side of the road. The distinct blue uniform meant these were definitely Blackwater policemen. How could he ever forget?  
With not a moment to spare he urged Taima onward, skidding around slight bends in the road to catch up. He passed two more downed men in quick succession, thankfully neither of which were his friends.  
The gunfire had ceased completely now, and Charles was getting nervous. Something must’ve happened. Javier and Sean weren’t the kind of people to stop shooting until the last bullet-or their last breath. Charles rounded the bend in the road and nearly collided with the remaining police who had begun to dismount, which wasn’t a good sign. He quickly dispatched them one by one, filling them with lead before they even caught sight of him.  
The man who must’ve been chief Dunbar, along with one of his officers, turned and fled impervious to the shots Charles sent after them. A relief and a disappointment all at once, but Charles had more pressing matters to attend to. Once he was sure they were gone, he dismounted.  
The first thing he noticed was that he hadn’t noticed Sean or Javier-alive or dead, for that matter. Which was good, since they weren’t dead OR in danger. But on the other hand, what had he just gotten himself into?  
The road was deserted once more, just Charles and a few bodies. Whoever had incurred the wrath of the Blackwater police department had his sympathy, certainly, but it seemed they were long gone. Plus, was this really his business? He wasn’t THAT desperate for an excuse to avoid Sean’s party that he’d stir up more trouble with Blackwater. But as he rounded the bend in the road, it seemed that choice had been taken out of his hands.  
Someone a little ways ahead of him fell right then out of the saddle, crashing unceremoniously into the ground. His entire shirt was soaked in red, so he was definitely the target of the chase. Charles dismounted quickly, jogging over to where he’d landed. He stopped by his head to assess the damages, cringing at the amount of blood and at how young he looked. Seriouly, what could someone who was barely even an adult have done to deserve this? Charles didn’t know. He quickly pulled some gauze tight around his midsection, hoping that would be enough to keep the bleeding level until he could get somewhere less obvious. Somehow he was still breathing, but Charles didn’t know how long that would last.  
He set out at as quick a pace as he could through the underbrush, looking back every few seconds to make sure the boy hadn’t somehow fallen off. His horse, or what Charles assumed to be his horse, was following them a few feet behind, and stopped right when he stopped at the edges of a clearing. Hopefully it was hidden enough.  
Then he got to work, rushing around with his field medical kit and getting a fire going. First step was to get the bullets out, which for the most part was unnecessary as most had gone straight through. Which was unfortunate, but not impossible to heal from.  
The whole time Charles worked the boy didn’t make a sound, lying deathly still on the bedroll Charles had found on what he assumed to be his horse. A couple times he even had to check his pulse to make sure he wasn’t actually dead.  
Eventually there was nothing left to do, with his injuries or with setting up camp, and somehow it had already gotten quite dark. After hitching up both horses and putting out the fire, Charles went to sleep.  
In the morning it was no different, no signs of life coming from his patient and no new problems either. After a moment’s hesitation, he decided to go hunting. He gathered his things, rekindled the campfire, and headed out.  
Now that he was alone again, on the road and no pressing responsibilities, Charles had some time to think. As in, why had he just made it his job to nurse back to health a petty criminal who had invoked the rage of the Blackwater police department? It wasn’t that he didn’t have time for it, though Dutch would probably get annoyed with him if he stayed out too long. It just seemed like he cared too much to be a good outlaw if he was going to take on anyone who needed help solely because they needed help. Or maybe he was just still mad about the Blackwater thing, and aiding someone they considered an enemy was like getting revenge? Was that what this was all about?  
Maybe they deserved some retaliation, though, if they’d decided to start shooting down petty criminals like that. Ones so young, especially. Sean, and also Lenny, were pretty young too-but they’d been guilty by association. This kid seemed to be on his own, and Charles didn’t think he even COULD have done something bad enough to warrant being chased by that many officers, even if he’d wanted to. And from what Charles could tell, he wasn’t some nationally infamous murderer-though something about him did seem familiar. But in a different way. Charles couldn’t really put a finger on it, so he let it go.  
The hunting was successful and relaxing, a nice break from the constant action of the past few days, or even the past few months. Everything seemed to be moving so fast, in a direction Charles wasn’t sure it should’ve been moving. But he left that kind of problem to the gang’s leaders, who he knew would see them through again. They always did.  
He returned to the clearing content and a few solid pounds of food richer, giving a passing glance to the nameless kid. Something about him really did look familiar. Maybe it was that scar? He really did look like... someone. But it wasn’t the scar, cause he sure didn’t remind him of John. Charles shook his head. He had better things to be worrying about.  
Charles decided to make some tea, stoking the fire and putting a pot of water on to boil. He barely made tea nowadays, as everyone at camp seemed to prefer coffee. Or whiskey. So he had plenty of nice herbs to make it with stocked up. He sprinkled some mint into the water, taking out a few dried leaves of oregano and crackling them into the pot.  
Something snapped behind him and he turned, expecting some sort of deer or small game animal. What he was NOT expecting was to be staring down the barrel of a gun, looking straight into the eyes of someone who had been near-dead just that morning. He held very still, waiting for him to say something. Maybe a list of demands. Or to pull the trigger. How had he gotten a gun? There was no way someone could bounce back from injuries like that so fast. Was he just delirious?  
Then he started backing away, heading over to where his horse stood, keeping the gun trained on Charles at all times. Didn’t seem like he actually intended to shoot him, so Charles just watched, perplexed. He struggled to get on his horse, letting his gun fall to his side. He barely spared Charles a passing glance as he left, awkwardly spurring his horse into a trot. Yeah, he was definitely delirious.  
After a minute Charles followed after him, jogging lightly down the trail. He’d barely gone fifty feet when, just as before, he found him laying unconscious in the road. His horse sniffed at him with concern. Charles shook his head. This day was certainly turning out to be quite strange.  
After lowering him back into his bedroll he went back to his tea, which thankfully hadn’t been overdone. He almost expected the kid to just sleep for another twelve hours or so, but instead he’d started to stir. Charles poured himself a cup of tea and waited, re-removing his gun from it’s holster so he couldn’t try to shoot him again.  
\-----------------  
“Good morning. Again.” Isaac’s eyes flew open, searching for the source of the voice. He twisted onto his side, pushing himself up against the tree again. It was the bounty hunter.  
"I...what? Why?” The man said nothing, sipping on tea and watching him carefully. “I don’t want to go to jail. Please, I-I bet I can pay you better than whatever they said! Don’t turn me in, mister, I didn’t do nothing wrong!” The man raised an eyebrow, and he honestly looked quite amused by his antics. Which was horribly annoying to Isaac, but he didn’t seem to be in a position to do anything about it. So he just turned away angrily, scowling off into the distance.  
This elicited a laugh from the man, which only served to annoy him further. Then the man moved toward him suddenly and Isaac tensed, pulling himself closer into his tree, until he realized that he had a cup in his hand. “Tea?”  
Isaac shook his head, but he took it anyway. He was pretty dehydrated. Probably lost a lot of blood, considering the number of bandages he had. “I don’t drink tea.”  
“Would you rather drink some deer blood?” Isaac wrinkled his nose. “Didn’t think so. Drink the tea.”  
Isaac wondered for a moment if it was poisoned, but thought better of it. Bounties bring in more cash alive. He tasted it, then. It was pretty good tea, actually, and Isaac wasn’t sure if he’d actually ever had tea.  
“Why are you doing this?” The man went back to staring at him. “You know, giving me tea. Not tying me up. I’m pretty sure they’ll still give you the same price if you dragged me in half-dead and sick-like.”  
“You seem to have made the assumption that the Blackwater police department sees me more favorably than it does you. Why would I have shot all those policemen if I was a bounty hunter?”  
“So you could claim the bounty. Duh.”  
“And yet, we are nowhere near the Blackwater police department. I must be a pretty lousy bounty hunter, hm?”  
Isaac thought about this. “Then who are you?”  
“Just your everyday outlaw, I suppose. Why do you ask so many questions?”  
Isaac ignored him. “Can I leave?”  
He laughed. “I won’t stop you, but you’ve tried that already. Didn’t go over so well. They shot you pretty bad, you know.”  
“Where’s my gun? I-”  
“You mean the one you almost shot me with?” Isaac stared intently at the ground, sipping at his tea. “No harm done. It’s over there in the grass somewhere.”  
Isaac nodded slowly, but he didn’t try to go retrieve it. Quite frankly he didn’t have the energy.  
“You can probably go in a couple days, get back to whatever you did that made the law so angry. Or don’t, if you like. Would probably be better for your health, but who am I to talk.”  
Isaac nodded. Maybe he’d just overreacted. Maybe he didn’t have a bounty at all.  
\---------------------------  
A couple days of boredom, tea, and meaningless conversations with a man Isaac couldn’t seem to get any actual information out of, including his name, the man said he was good to go if he wanted to leave. And of course he did, but he wished he could’ve learned more about this man. If he was an outlaw, he might’ve known Arthur Morgan, but he didn’t want to ask and make him suspicious.  
All he’d really learned was that he was an outlaw of some sort, and that he had a particular distaste for Blackwater that Isaac could empathize with. Unless Isaac asked questions, he didn’t talk much, which was very strange. So, while he was grateful for him saving his life, he was more than ready to get out of there by the time he finally said he was good to leave.  
“Try to check in with one of those town doctors in a week or so if you can, just make sure it doesn’t get infected. Good luck.”  
Isaac nodded, mounting Jamie and thanking him one last time. Isaac turned left down the trail, heading back toward Strawberry, careful to watch for patrols. Or anyone really.  
The trail was thankfully quiet the whole way back, and Isaac was happy to be home. He took his belongings-including all of the money-out of the saddlebags, because now he’d learned his lesson about leaving those things unattended. Not that anything had happened, but it could’ve.  
He nodded to the innkeeper, making his way carefully up the stairs and closing himself in the room. He would’ve like to sleep right then, but he ended up fiddling with his things. He’d have to give Hector his share from that recent robbery, to prove he hadn’t up and ran on him. Or gotten himself killed, which had almost actually happened.  
He took out that bounty poster once more, turning it over in his hands. He had to have this guy’s face memorized at this point, but still. Then he took out the newspaper again, committing all the details of their most recent ventures to memory. Well, actually, he should probably ask the paperboy if anything else had happened since then, but that could wait for tomorrow.  
He skimmed down the line of Arthur Morgan’s mean looking companions, stopping suddenly at the 6th one down. Because it was him. The man who saved him.  
“Charles Smith.”  
Isaac couldn’t believe it. How could he have been so stupid? One of Arthur Morgan’s friends had been RIGHT THERE. For almost a week!  
\---------------------------  
Charles looked up at the “Strawberry” sign, peaceful but also menacing in a way he couldn’t really explain. Seemed like a bad omen somehow, like even though he’d just been under a mile from Blackwater, he still shouldn’t be this close. But he’d been gone for a few days now, thanks to that kid-what had he said his name was? Isaac?-and probably needed to bring something back to justify it. So he stopped at the general store for a bit, stocking up on some canned goods to bring back to Pearson. They never seemed to have too many of those.  
He waved politely to the shop owner as he left, dumping the bag of food straight into Taima’s saddlebags. He almost mounted up but stopped, noticing something out of the corner of his eye. In fact, it was the Strawberry sheriff, who seemed to be putting down a bounty poster on one of the telegram poles by the store. He waited a minute, busying himself with Taima’s saddle, until the man walked back into the sheriff’s office and didn’t return. Then he walked over.  
And of course, it was Isaac, who’d apparently managed to keep his name a secret from the law longer than he had Charles, as he was simply listed as “Unnamed Minor”.  
And, somehow, “Unnamed Minor” had amassed a $750 bounty. Wanted dead or alive. Even Charles, deadpan, unshakeable Charles, was dumbfounded. Multiple stagecoach robberies, apparently “countless” murders, it was insane.  
Not that Charles was inclined toward hypocrisy on the subject, but Jesus. He couldn’t be older than seventeen, and his description seemed to agree. For some reason, Charles found himself taking the poster, stuffing down alongside the canned goods when he got back to Taima. Not only because it intrigued him, but because there was still something familiar about the kid that he just couldn’t place.  
But for the time being, from what John had told him, they had a train robbery to get ready for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i might have to start working on other stories alongside this one   
just so i dont get bored of it  
because that was quite the hiatus  
but i still plan to update this bc i am thoroughly invested in this story  
i just might need to spice it up a little more  
so yeah  
hope you enjoyed


	9. Rats!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahah... im so sorry wow  
i have no excuses im just lazy,,,, like yeah it was finals week but i had time before that, im just lazy! im sorry! D:  
if anyones actually like reading this consistently and wanted an update, im sorry lmao  
but, i hope you enjoy!

After two weeks of relaxing in Strawberry, subsisting on whatever he could get at the general store and scouring the newspapers fruitlessly for mentions of the Van Der Lindes, Isaac decided to go see Hector. 

There was no dread, as him returning would probably be a good surprise. Had Hector assumed him dead, captured, or that he’d just taken the score and dipped? He still almost considered it, but some last fragment of the moral codes he’d held for most of his life kept him from doing so. Or maybe Hector was just too profitable to be made an enemy of. 

Discomfort from where he’d been shot persisted when he was doing pretty much anything other than sleeping or sitting around, especially when riding Jamie-an unfortunate fact he’d learned when he’d tried to ride Jamie to the general store one day out of laziness. Thankfully, he didn’t have to stray too far from his small room up in the guest center, so walking had become his new habit. He probably needed exercise anyway, he’d thought, to balance out all of the bed rest. 

Even though he was in no way fully healed, being stuck in the quaint, boring little town had begun to be more tiresome than the injury itself. He’d just started to get into the rhythm of going out on jobs, all on his own, being his own boss and doing as he pleased. While he was only going to the post office to clear things up with Hector and deliver his share of the ill-gotten gains, he secretly hoped he’d send him out on another job. Which of course would be horribly impractical, but Isaac was not famous for his critical thinking ability. But he was beginning to get famous for something else. 

Same deal as every other time, Isaac waited until the flow of traffic was less before waltzing into the post office with nothing but a slight favoring to his side to hint that anything was out of the ordinary. The minute Hector noticed him, his face was instantly alight with shock. And fear. 

“ISAAC!” Isaac raised an eyebrow. There was literally no one else in the post office, unless of course someone was hidden under the counter, so the whisper-yelling didn’t really seem necessary. 

“You miss your lackey, Hector? I got your cut from that last robbery.” 

“And it took you almost a month? Kid! I thought you’d finally died! What the hell is wrong with you?” 

Isaac scoffed, barely fazed. Hector was probably just worried about the money he’d thought he’d lost. “What’s wrong with me? How about what’s wrong with sending me to hold up some big-city stagecoach with more guards than money? That seem normal to you?” 

Hector bristled, opened his mouth to retort, but stopped. Readorned the expression he’d had when Isaac walked in. “Oh, shit, Isaac, you’ve gotta get out of here. Like, right now. I-forget it. Keep the money. Just get out of here. There’s been at least five lawmen in here asking after you since I last saw you! I’m real sorry, I-Go! Now! Get lost!” 

Isaac froze, uncomprehending. Five lawmen? He hadn’t even thought he’d been wanted! If it weren’t for that whole bounty hunter scare, he’d never have entertained the idea- 

“You Hector Barlow?” The door swung open, nearly hitting Isaac on the head as it went. Hector’s eyes widened, but only for a second, as he schooled his expression into something passively curious. A ruse. Isaac took the hint. 

“I certainly am. Need something?” Isaac grabbed the door handle as it slid almost shut again, catching Hector’s eyes for a split second as he left. Encouragement and concern and sadness, all at once, all in the half second before Isaac let the door shut quietly. He wanted to tell Hector how grateful he was, to have someone sort-of looking out for him in those weeks, but there was no time. He dashed back to his room, as fast as he could, anyway, grateful that for some reason the town was nearly deserted, hastily grabbing his few belongings and dashing right back out. 

“Oh, no you don’t.” A woman’s voice growled at him, hoarse with age and anger alike. Something icily metallic pushed into his neck, and this time Isaac thought he was really done for. His gun was right at his hip, but it was fastened on his bad side, not that he’d be able to draw it in time in normal circumstances either. He was toast. 

“You’re that kid, right? The one on all those bounty posters?” Isaac felt the end of a rifle very acutely as it was pushed harder into the back of his neck, and he almost tripped. Frozen with fear, he didn’t dare respond. 

“Hm. Don’t seem so tough as all that, now do ya?” The woman sighed, pulling the gun from his neck. He let out a small, shaky breath, staying very still. “Well, looks can be deceiving. At least, I sure hope so. Come on.” She grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around, pushing him toward the end of the walkway as she did so. He barely had time to see what she looked like, or appreciate that she was no longer pointing a gun at him. 

“Well, I think we can help each other out here. You see, my husband was just shot ‘bout an hour ago. I ain’t too heartbroken over it, you see-he's the fifth one so far, and I know I can find a sixth.” Isaac turned toward her now, confusion written all over his face. “Oh, don’t act like I'm so cold and cruel. Least I weren’t the one that killed him, mister menace-of-the-Montana. Or so you’re called, by the gossips in Blackwater. Anyway. He weren’t never very nice to me, but that don’t mean he deserved bein’ killed. No, and I’m rightly pretty angry about that. As one is, when her husband is shot. And what really did it was that the sheriff won’t even go look for him. The killer, I mean. They found Tom’s body pretty quick, bloodied and bruised as it was when they showed up.” 

They’d been walking off towards the surrounding forest pretty quickly, and Isaac thought that’s where he was being led until the woman turned around abruptly and started walking back towards Strawberry. “Oops, got carried away-you got a horse?” He still hadn’t said a word, too shaken to speak, but after a second to process that he was supposed to respond, he whistled for Jamie. The woman nodded, continuing with her story that Isaac was trying very hard to follow instead of worrying about having a gun pointed at him again. 

“Those damn lawmen, cowards they are, wouldn’t go after him. Said he wasn’t “in their jurisdiction”, which is definitely crap, as he was killed right in this here town! Brushed it off as he’s apparently a case of those Pinkertons that are always prowling around Blackwater, who’re apparently the “big leagues” of lawmen. Handle the big cases of career criminals and the like. Which was a load of bull, really! They could pass off their special scum to the special law AFTER they capture him. So, they’re just cowards. Fear for their lives against someone who managed to get a five-thousand-dollar bounty. It’s ludicrous, really. What are our taxes even paying for if the law can’t uphold the law!” 

Jamie trotted over from around the bend, right as they approached a horse that must’ve been the womans, a lean grey Turkoman that perked up as they approached. Isaac was dreading having to ride so soon, but he was pretty much powerless now. The woman’s sudden shift to a nearly hospitable tone was betrayed by the rifle she now held loosely in her hands, and he doubted he could get away with shooting her in the middle of the street. Not quite as simple as shooting someone with a $750 bounty, which wouldn’t draw as much negative attention. Not that there was anyone around to witness it, which-where was everyone? Isaac didn’t have time to dwell on it. 

“So, that’s where you come in, rebel boy. You obviously know how to handle yourself-” she eyed him from over her horse and he shifted awkwardly, “-to an extent. Maybe. And that’s all I need, cause it’s better than what I got from the sheriff. And you, my friend-well, you’re gonna get ‘em. The man who killed my husband. Preferably alive, but I'll take him dead too. Better’n him running free, at least.” At that she mounted her horse and he did the same, grimacing as he fell into the saddle awkwardly. 

“Come on, then. Let’s go get ‘em.” 

\------ 

Isaac was glad he’d established a theme of silence, because to hear him speak she’d have thought him on the verge of tears. Which he of course wasn’t. If she hadn’t still been blathering on amicably about her husband, he might’ve thought she’d changed her mind and shot him for real. It was literal daggers every time Jamie’s hooves hit the Earth, which was pretty often. Jamie seemed to sense something was off and tried to walk a little lighter, but it was no use-especially when the woman thought she’d found a trail and shot off down the road, leaving Isaac to wonder if he should’ve just let her shoot him. But onward he rode. 

“Wait, stop, did you hear that?” 

Isaac paused, careful to ease Jamie to a halt to avoid any unnecessary pain. Which didn’t go so well, but at least he tried. He followed her lead in peering into the bushes around them, but he had no idea what this person looked like. Nor did he feel like asking. 

After scanning the ground for a few moments she seemed to find something, dismounting hastily and stepping around a particular patch of dirt, no doubt finding footprints. She followed them for a bit until they continued off into the trees before doubling back to get her horse. Another prime opportunity to escape, had he been at full health, and had he not been *almost* having fun. But chasing down a murderer under threat of death still wasn’t exactly his idea of a fun time. 

“I think I've got him. From where these tracks came from-” she glanced behind her quickly as she mounted back up, “-and where they seem to be heading to, I’ve got a strong feeling this is our guy.” Isaac nodded. “Ah, so you are listening? Interesting. Bet that sheriff will be mighty embarrassed when you of all people show up with a bounty he wouldn’t go after with all his men.” Isaac raised an eyebrow, wondering just how warmly a criminal like him would be received. She shook her head. “Forgot. For a second, I was living in a world where I'm not forced to cohabitate with criminals. No offense. Guess I’ll handle that part...say, was it weirdly quiet when we left? I’ve never seen that little “tourist town” so lifeless before. Doubt everyone was still holed up from the shooting, since that’s well over with by now, but maybe? Suppose it don’t matter.” 

They wove through a copse of trees and bushes from there, Isaac struggling to follow the footprints she was so dutifully tracking. It had started to get dark, whether from the onset of evening or the thickly clustered trees blocking the sunlight he wasn’t sure. Ever since he’d been on such constant self-imposed bed rest, his perception of time was somewhat warped. Was it morning? Almost dark? Midday? Indoors, with the curtains always drawn, there’s no way of knowing. 

But regardless of what time it was, Isaac was starting to get tired. Somehow he was still “healing” from an injury he’d gotten over two weeks ago, as well as his limbs feeling overtaxed after so much disuse. He really should be a little better about not getting shot- 

“You trying to get shot? Stop! I think he’s gonna be just up here, up on that ridge.” Isaac watched her for a minute, puzzled, before getting his bearings and dismounting-slowly. He leaned against Jamie for a minute before trotting after her, pulling his gun from it’s holster. 

They snuck up the hill, Isaac being waved onward after each time she stopped to make sure of something, until suddenly they were right below the ridge. He waited while she peeked over the ledge, staring off in the direction of a campfire Isaac thought he could almost hear crackling. 

“Well, kid, I think this is where we part ways. I ain’t suited for legendary gunfights with notorious outlaws-which is why that’s your job. Haul him over to that inn I caught you at, and I’ll handle the rest.” At that, she was off, slinking back down the hill in the direction of the clearing they’d hid their horses in. Isaac shook his head. Her confidence in him was strange. Especially when he’d not said a word to her the whole way. Or even agreed to go through with it. But for some reason, he did. 

After a moment’s deliberation he rushed up the hill, aiming his gun toward where he thought the campfire sounded to be. He was right, and after a slight correction to the right, he had his gun aimed at a man’s head. Haggard, blonde hair and ripped up clothes. Definitely looked like a killer. 

“Woah there, kid-that ain’t smart.” His voice sounded sinister too-a sliver of an attempt to sound reassuring overpowered by whatever darkness seemed to radiate from him. Isaac had no doubt this was the right guy. 

“You shot someone, in Strawberry?” The man narrowed his eyes, raising his hands in the air slowly as he stepped away from his seat at the fire. 

“A bit of a... misunderstanding, is all. Why don’t you put the gun down, eh?” 

Isaac was waiting for an opportunity, watching the man intently for any sign that he would reach for his guns at either hip. He could just shoot him now, but he’d been instructed to bring him in alive. “You tell me. Why don’t I?” 

The man raised an eyebrow, mustache twitching as his face contorted into an odd expression. “Got some fire in you, eh, kid? A little spunk. That’ll serve you well in life.” Isaac traced his movements carefully, too focused to be annoyed. “Yeah, yeah, but don’t let it get to your head. Boys like you, they need guidance, yes? Unless you’re looking forward to a life on the streets, you might want to put that gun down... and come with me. I know someone who does well with boys like you... you ever heard of Dutch Van Der Linde?” 

He’d caught Isaac by surprise, if only for a moment, and that was all he’d needed. In the moment of shock that sent Isaac’s aim off kilter and his eyes out of focus, the man drew his gun, aimed- 

And everything went orange. 

He recognized this. It had happened before, whenever something seemed to be moving too fast, it slowed down just at the right time. He wasn’t sure quite how or why it happened, other than it must be some life preserving instinct he’d been blessed with, and always seemed to show up right when he thought he was surely dead. Like right now. 

He watched as the man’s finger wrapped around the trigger, leveling the revolver with his head, debating whether he should do the same. But now, for whatever reason, he had an opportunity for deliberateness. So he whipped up his gun, aimed, fired- 

And the gun shot right out of the man’s hand. 

Shock was the only discernible reaction for a second, as the man grappled with the fact that Isaac wasn’t on the ground with a hole in his head. And then, fear. For just a second, masked by the sinister smirk of a man who thought he could bargain his way out of this. 

Isaac knew he should step over and bash the man over the head with his gun, or, better yet, shoot him in the leg and bring him back bleeding but alive, make patching him up the sheriff’s problem. But he had to ask. 

“How do you know Dutch Van Der Linde?” 

“Ah, ol’ Dutch? Don’t know-unless you want to put the gun down. Then, I might have some stories to tell. That what you want? Glorious stories of the notorious gang leader?” Isaac said nothing. “Ah, no, I got it. You want to MEET the big man. Get his autograph, yeah, yeah. Guess what? I can arrange that. No-really! But you’re gonna have to put the gun down first.” 

Isaac almost considered it. Almost. It’d be like the entire mission he’d been on being handed to him. It would be so easy-except that it wouldn’t. He looked into the man’s eyes, wide with some false compassion, and realized that he could never trust this man’s words. It was an opportunity, but a false one, one that would end with him shot dead in his sleep, or worse. No, he’d just have to keep going as he had been, following clues that the rest of the public also knew. 

He lowered his gun, slowly, using the last moment to solidify his decision. He could see the man had assumed he’d fell for it, could see the triumph written all over his face- 

And he shot him, right in the stomach. 

\---- 

“You got him, then?” 

Isaac nodded, tightening his jaw as he’d dismounted. Carrying-or really dragging-the wounded man over to his horse had been bad enough, then the ride back where he’d been in a rush to make sure the man couldn’t sneak something on him OR die in the short ride back. Being injured really was putting a strain on his whole life. 

“Oh, Jesus! Is he still alive? What did you do!” 

Isaac shrugged, pretty committed to his temporary theme of silence around this woman. Would elicit less questions, anyway, if she didn’t expect any of them to be answered. 

“Next time, just lasso ‘em. I’m gonna get a proper lecture from that sheriff, and I've had my fill of hearing him talk for the day. But, he’s breathing-for now, and that’s all I need. Thanks for all your help, kid. Try to stay out of trouble.” 

Isaac watched her leave, trotting off toward the sheriff with the man tossed across the back of her horse. Something sad in it, the way he kept meeting people who were on his side, and then had to leave them shortly after. But he supposed that was the life of someone like him. 

As the town was pretty deserted and the lawmen would no doubt be busy dealing with the man he’d shot, Isaac decided to walk instead of riding out of town. He grabbed Jamie’s reins and headed off down the road, but Jamie probably would’ve followed anyway. 

At the end of the road he found the explanation for the lack of people wandering around town-they were all gathered around the gallows to watch a hanging. Typical, for small-town folk with nothing better to do with their lives, but something about it still made Isaac want to look away. For some reason, it was easier to shoot someone than watch them get their neck broken. 

Even so, he stayed, lingering by the back of the crowd to avoid recognition. Seemed to be the whole population of Strawberry was clustered around, watching as a lone man shouted something emphatically out at the crowd. He didn’t look like a lawman, which was strange-the only hangings Isaac had ever heard about from back home were run by the sheriff, and usually guarded by a few other policemen. Not just one man. 

Some people cheered, some people yelled, and a few watched with resigned anger as the man said something else Isaac couldn’t hear. 

“Oh, Mildred, it really is awful. What’d he even do?” 

Mildred, an older woman, shook her head. “Nothing, other than being a negro. And being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Ain’t nothing we can do for him now.” 

Isaac scowled, watching as the man pretended to drop the lever for what must’ve been the tenth time, watching as his victim-who couldn’t have been older than twenty-five-tensed every time he did. Like it was a game. 

He was pretty far back from the platform, but he wasn’t in a rush, lining up his shot with the thin rope as the man beneath it met his eyes-only for a second-and realized what was happening. When Isaac was certain he’d lined it up properly, he fired-and chaos broke out. 

“Who was that?” 

“Wheres the shooter!?” 

“He’s getting away!” 

Isaac watched as the man dashed off the ramp, hands still bound behind his back. Oops. He hadn’t thought about that-and now the man who’d been about to hang him was now following him in hot pursuit, nevermind that his audience was quickly dispersing for fear of being shot. They didn’t even notice Isaac, still as a statue, lining up a second shot with the center of the man’s head, firing, and watching has his body hit the ground. He didn’t get back up, as one does. 

The man turned just for a moment, out of shock, wondering if he was the one who’d been shot. But then he eyed the still form of the man who’d nearly lynched him, and looked back over to where Isaac stood. He wasn’t sure what he’d been trying to say with his eyes, but whatever it was quickly dissipated as he took off running once more. Hands still tied behind his back. 

Isaac would have offered to help, but then again, he could probably figure it out on his own. So once again, he set out, hoping for no more distractions on his way to wherever he’d end up this time. 

\----- 

Valentine. That was the closest town to Strawberry, yet far enough to probably not have his face plastered on every surface in town. At least, that was the hope. 

Not only that, but the Van Der Linde gang had most likely come down from the mountains by now, and certainly wouldn’t be in Blackwater. Could they have been in Strawberry? After the run in with one “Micah Bell” who he was again sorely disappointed to realize was another one of the men on that newspaper article he’d found, he couldn’t be sure, but he probably would’ve noticed if more of them were about. Not that it mattered, anyway-he couldn’t go back now. 

So, Valentine. A small-ish ranching town, if what he’d heard was true, and now he was set financially to actually start looking. A few thousand dollars from the stagecoaches he’d robbed, a hobby he wasn’t particularly inclined to return to anytime soon. Which gave him more time for his main goal: 

Finding Arthur Morgan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thx for reading!


	10. So, you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and yet again, i am back after an excessively long hiatus that can be blamed only on procrastination. sorry!  
-also, been kind of confused about formatting, so if anything looks weird as in paragraphs spaced wildly, lmk  
ALSO if anything makes absolutely no sense lmk because i was tired as heck when i wrote this

Valentine wasn’t much of a change. Once you managed to tune out the all-encompasing stench of the livestock and the indefinitely muddy walkways, it really wasn’t all that bad. The people were nice enough, and much more apathetic than those in Strawberry, to where Isaac didn’t get quite as many stares. It was nice. Refreshing, to feel invisible-and maybe even normal-again. 

First thing he did was book a room at the inn, after having to dodge around the innkeeper’s nosy questioning. Really, he only wanted to sleep, but somehow the allure of having an excessive amount of money and being in a new place to spend it pulled him back outside once he’d set all his stuff down. After all, the ragged and torn attire paired with his generally unkempt appearance didn’t exactly send a great message. He needed to look at least presentable to blend in, since after all he was technically “on the run” now. He still wasn’t scared, but even someone as oblivious as him couldn’t deny the need to at least have some tact in avoiding being caught. Wouldn’t bode well for his mission to be tossed into a small-town jail to be ultimately strung up at the end of a noose. 

“Hey there, young man! If you’ve got a grocery list, I can get that sorted for you while you browse. Otherwise-” 

“Actually, I was lookin’ to get some new clothes?” The shopkeeper nodded intently. 

“Of course, of course! We’ve got nothing but the finest in stock, surely an improvement from...” he paused, shaking his head decisively. “Ah, nevermind. Come look at our selection. I’m sure you’ll find something that catches your eye.” 

After at least a half hour of deflecting nosy questions about where he got the money to buy it and if his parents approved, Isaac walked out of that general store with an outfit he thought would be fit for a king, and certainly cost more overall than anything else he’d owned in his life. A nice new pair of black, impeccably shiny riding boots, a pair of fitted jeans without a single tear or stain, a soft but sharp button-up with a vest and a decorative (but as Isaac considered the criminal possibilities, useful) bandana, as well as an expensive but rugged duster coat and a nice new hat. He’d never been one to wear hats before, but something about setting it on his head in the mirror (and making a variety of outlaw-esque poses in the mirror, though he would’ve denied this) really completed the look. 

At first, looking at himself in the mirror had been a shock. For some reason, in spite of the events of the past weeks (months?) he’d been expecting to look exactly the same as he had every time he’d looked in the mirror-a chipper, meek little country-boy kid. A “nice boy” with a sweet smile. And that’s who he’d been, even as the years went by and he got a little taller, a little more “grown-looking”, and a little more defined, he was always that boy. 

In that moment, really taking in his reflection for the first time since he’d left home, he was shocked. The person looking at him through the glass wasn’t him, not in any way he wanted to acknowledge. He was broader, and rougher, and meaner looking than he ever could’ve imagined, and paired with that distinctive scar he now sported, it really gave him a criminal look. Not that that was inaccurate. 

Back home, he’d always wanted to grow up faster, get bigger, be stronger, look older, etc. And now he did, and it was jarring. Unpleasant. He looked in the mirror at his own perpetual scowl and wondered when the soft friendliness had left his face, when he’d adopted this new menacing look that he hadn’t even realized. Someone would be forgiven for mistaking him for 20, a realization that would’ve once brought him nothing but joy. Now, there was a strange sense of displacement-like he’d lost something he didn’t even know he’d had. 

And yet at the same time-it felt like he finally had some authority, could throw his weight around instead of being thrown himself. He wasn’t the same weak little farm-boy he’d once been, consigned to inheriting their small property one day and maybe training horses. Now, he was robbing stages and traveling halfway across the country on the hunt for some illusive criminal for no discernible reason. Sounded like one of those books he used to read, that his ma would always call “ridiculous” or “wastes of time”. Fanciful tales you would never believe would happen in real life, but here he was. 

However, there was no time for dwelling on such things, especially once he returned to his room at the inn afterward and found yet another full length mirror. He couldn’t let himself get distracted by something so menial-he had a man to be tracking down, after all. The new clothes made him look a little more respectable, maybe a bit older, and they’d certainly let him in the saloon now-and he could snoop around with the patrons and maybe even the bartender for information, just like in the books. Easy. 

Before that, though, he decided to head down to the gun store before it got dark, get himself a proper rifle and maybe a shotgun, something more lethal and efficient in a gunfight than an old revolver. Somehow, all these purchases weren’t putting even a dent in his accumulated “earnings”, things that would’ve sent their family right back into debt had he even looked at them before. Sometimes, he wondered why more people didn’t just do crime when it was so goddamn profitable. Why spend forty years slaving over a farm, or maybe a small business, when one good heist could set you up for life? A lifestyle he’d never have even considered a few weeks ago now seemed to be the only logical course of action-crime. 

After he left the gunsmith with a few new shiny weapons, he stopped by the paperboy on the corner to pick up the new releases. His injuries had kept him on the road a few days as he’d ridden slower and taken more rest breaks than usual, so he was a bit behind on the news-particularly regarding the Van Der Linde gang. He bought the two papers he hadn’t yet read and stowed them away to read later. 

With nothing pressing left to do he explored the town, though it wasn’t quite large enough to be considered “exploring”. The general store and gun store were at an angle at opposite ends of the road, as well as the sheriff, the bank, a doctor’s and law office, the inn, and for some reason two saloons. All in all it was a quaint little town, and not wholly unpleasant besides the reminders to strawberry-and his old town. It was peaceful, it seemed, the people were passive and the aura was one of hard-work and no-nonsense. And alcoholism, probably, if they really needed two saloons. But that wasn’t his problem. 

He meandered down to the post office, which sat right by the train tracks as per the standard. Further outward was a crossroads with diverging paths which looked heavily traveled, something he made a mental note to check out on his map when he got back. Out of boredom, he slid into the post office, closing the door softly and nodding curtly to the station attendant. It was certainly larger than the one in Strawberry, probably to accumulate a more popularly visited town. Or maybe because they had more space. 

He browsed the posters on the wall absentmindedly, scanning through a variety of job offers and advertisements as he idly searched for any information he could get. It was likely the Van Der Lindes weren’t near Valentine after all-maybe they’d kept going east and he’d have to catch up with them. After all, it seemed like once their location had become known enough to become public knowledge, they had already left. 

“Pssst!” Isaac turned quickly, scanning the post office. At some point the attendant he’d greeted on the way in had left, and now it was only him and another, strange looking man who was staring at him intently from his position behind the desk. Isaac sighed, preparing for the worst as he sauntered over to the window. 

“Hey. Hey! Don’t give me that look... It’s Isaac, right?” 

Isaac took a step back, shocked. “Wha-” 

“Oh. Ha! Sorry. Seems I have you at a disadvantage, mm? The name’s Alden, Alden Carruthers. Y’see, my friend Hector mailed me just this morning, over from Strawberry post? Told me to look out for someone like you, said you might, well... come looking around for work, eh?” 

Isaac scoffed dismissively. “Now, I didn’t sign up for-” 

“Oh, no, no no no! Your secret is safe with me. Hector and I go way back, really! I run this little operation we’ve got going here, y’see? Mister Barlow just thought I should let you know, if you ever need any leads...” a man walked in the door, and Alden nodded conspiratorially. “Do come back.” 

Isaac was still confused as he walked back to the inn, and decided there was something almost... too chipper about the man’s attitude. And how was he so sure of his identity? And how was Isaac sure he could be trusted? Well, he couldn’t. And so, he wouldn’t. He didn’t need any more jobs anyway, and Hector’s unfailing forthrightness had pretty much been the only reason he hadn’t booked it out of fear. But now? This “Alden Carruthers” had already started to grate on him, with his chipper bluntness and imposing nature being too sketchy, or maybe just annoying, for Isaac’s taste. No, he wouldn’t treat this weird encounter like he had Hector, uncanny though it was. Maybe, maybe if he investigated into the man a bit more-but there was hardly any time for that, he had a gang to chase. 

So at that, he climbed up the inn stairs and climbed into bed, resting up for the first real day of investigation. 

\-------------------- 

The new papers revealed no new insights on the Van Der Linde gang’s location, just a few local dramas and obscure advertisements. He stashed them in one of the drawers of his room, changing back into his new day-clothes and scanning himself in the mirror one last time before heading out. The innkeeper gave him a curt nod as he passed, which he ignored. 

His first venture was not into the saloon, because that was an intimidating venture for a fifteen year old-even one like himself. Instead, he headed back into the general store to “shop”, for more than just goods of course. After he’d tired the man out of his merciless questioning, he’d actually been somewhat nice to him, so Isaac had decided that would be the place to begin. Some safe, neutral territory, test the waters of the Valentine dwellers to see just how far he could push for information. 

He picked up some dry goods and fruit that he actually did need to buy, idly chatting with the shopkeeper about business, the weather, and the like. He seemed to be a talkative sort, maybe didn’t get many customers willing to chat, and Isaac decided to use that to his advantage, smoothly shifting the conversation over to one elusive outlaw. 

“Say, you heard anything ‘bout that one guy, Arthur Morgan? Big-time criminal?” 

“Huh, Arthur Morgan. Was he that guy-back in ‘83, that-nah, that was A.J James. Sorry, don’t think so. Why do you ask?” 

Isaac shrugged casually. “Eh, was just curious. Saw his bounty poster a few towns over, real big prize, and not wanted by the regular police neither. No, said for him to be turned in to the “Pinkertons”, some detective agency. Think he’s with those Van Der Lindes?” 

“Van Der Lindes!” The man shook his head. “That’s a bunch of craziness right there. Those gangs and their- their everything, really. Bad business in general, and now we get word that the Van Der Lindes, the notorious crooks and now killers, have been heading east. East! It’s a damn tragedy is what it is, and what am I supposed to do? Sit around waiting for them to ransack my store? Apparently, if you ask that sheriff over there.” Isaac waited patiently, letting him talk. “Eh, Arthur Morgan don’t ring a bell, only one I'd recognize from that haggle of vagabonds is their leader, Dutch. Dutch Van Der Linde, the silver-tongued, murderin’ messiah, that one! Say, maybe I should be worried. They could be here, in this very town, posing as travelers right under our noses! How preposterous that would be. You got any idea what this “Arthur Morgan” fellow looks like?” 

Isaac thought for a moment, trying to conjure up the bounty poster as well as that one description from the newspaper article in his mind. “Er, he’s pretty tall, got a real distinctive sort of gambler’s hat, lots of scars...probably light brown hair? That’s all I can remember.” 

The shopkeeper studied him a moment before laughing. “So, you?” 

Isaac narrowed his eyes for a moment, watching the man with disbelief. He couldn’t seriosly believe that he was Arthur Morgan, right? 

“Ah, don’t get so serious on me now. Just a joke, y’know, I make those sometimes.” Isaac stared at him blankly, and the man drummed his fingers on the counter awkwardly under his gaze. “Uh, really though. Haven’t seen anybody I could point you to, I’m afraid-though that description does fit a few of the people who pass by here, so I’ll certainly be keeping an eye out! Thank you, there.” 

Isaac nodded briskly and turned to leave before being interrupted again. “Oh, hey! If you’re the type to be eyeing bounties, I know Sheriff Malloy’s sometimes got work posted over there...if you like.” 

Isaac thought about this. He’d never done bounties before, but it might be something easy-and legal. “I’ll, uh, think about that. Thanks.” 

The man nodded energetically, for that seemed to be how he did everything-with too much energy. While the visit hadn’t been especially productive for his goals, it had been highly informative, and he pondered as much while paying for the food he’d bought and heading back up to his room. It was early yet so he didn’t stay, heading back down to proceed to the next stage in the mission. 

The saloon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its time to get FUNKY (not really) Sorry if this chapter was boring lol, was just trying to re-establish where the heck i wanted the story to go as id kind of been gone for awhile (again) (this keeps happening)


End file.
